


Keeper of Souls.

by springburn



Series: Random musings from The Capaldi character file. [29]
Category: Peter Capaldi fandom (not RPF), Sea of Souls (TV)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Manipulative Behaviour, Marriage, New Beginnings, Peter Capaldi character file, Secret Identity, Spanking, Submissive Male, Twins, angst/feels, continuance of tv story, dominant female, life after trauma, murder investigation, some kink, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-07-15 13:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 86,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16064474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: Gordon Fleming is trying to rebuild his life after the fire that killed his wife's twin sister.She has taken on certain of her siblings traits. But he is convinced they can start again and be happy.Gradually, however, certain events begin to occur that put his, their son's and everything around him in jeopardy.....





	1. What to do?

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who haven't watched Sea of Souls. Seeing Double. It's a disturbing story. 
> 
> Twins who rediscover each other, having been seperated in early childhood.  
> Carol has a secure and happy upbringing. Helen does not. 
> 
> The story unfolds over two episodes, as they undergo experiments into telepathy at the Clyde University department of Para-psychology headed by Dr Douglas Monaghan. (Played by Bill Paterson).
> 
>  
> 
> Gradually, Helen undermines her sister. Causing problems and interfering in her life.  
> Coveting Carol's happy marriage and her son, Helen wheedles her way into every aspect of her siblings life. Including seducing her husband Gordon. (Played by Peter Capaldi).  
> She resorts to manipulation, impersonation, murder, then arson, to get what she wants. Having carefully preplanned her strategy for removing her sister from the equation and successfully taking her place. 
> 
> Only Monaghan is sure of the truth, (and of course, the viewer) but what can he do? His only real evidence is that the twins tied their shoelaces differently. 
> 
> The story begins where the tv episode leaves off. 
> 
> (This first chapter is really an introduction, which, for those who've not seen the programme gives a lot of background information. I've tried not to make it too much of an info-dump and I hope you'll forgive me if it is.  
> The story really begins in earnest in chapter two!)
> 
>  

KEEPER OF SOULS.

CHAPTER ONE.  
WHAT TO DO?

Doctor Douglas Monaghan barely remembered the journey back into the city. Rain streaked his windscreen in the mournful way that is a feature of Scottish precipitation, the wipers stretched to their utmost limits.  
He parked his car in the rather unprepossessing concrete multi storey which was close to his office at the Clyde University. 

Walking on autopilot. Deep in thought. 

Having just driven from the rented home of the Fleming family, he was in a state of some mental turmoil. 

Once inside the tatty 1960's building that was his workplace, he threw down his keys, his files and phone, plonking himself heavily into the battered old chair behind his untidy desk. Leaning forwards, fingers steepled in front of his face. Brow furrowed in thought. 

Not only had the discovery he'd just made placed the future of the Fleming family in jeopardy, or worse...even danger, but his whole existence, that of his colleagues, and the continuation of the entire department of psychology and para-psychology was now potentially in the balance since the disastrous twin telepathy experiment he'd staged for the fund managers the previous semester.  
It seemed doubtful now, that he'd ever finish his book, since he knew he must turn his every effort to exposing the truth. 

What on earth could he do? 

In his own mind he had little doubt that his friend of more than fifteen years, Carol, was dead. 

The woman he had spoken to less than an hour before in the Fleming's temporary lodging, was her surviving twin sister. 

Somehow, through guile and insinuation, she had managed to swap their two lives. 

Helen was NOT Carol. 

Not in any way, shape or form. 

The Carol he knew was a soft and gentle person. Placid. Caring.  
A good mother. Intelligent. A great lecturer. Possessing a natural kindness. Well liked too. 

Yet not so tough mentally. 

As long as they'd been friends, meeting through his wife Alice, who had been at university with her, she'd struggled with lack of self confidence. 

Marriage, and the birth of her son had helped, yet even that had not, apparently, been enough. 

He now understood that she and her husband Gordon encountered marital problems. Many marriages hit shaky times, but it came as a shock to him to discover the affair with Mike O'Connor. The liaison she'd successfully managed to keep secret from everyone, including her spouse.

However, he was convinced that Carol loved Gordon, and that he loved her deeply in return. Sure that their partnership would be strong enough to weather these difficulties, move through the rocky patch, pass them and onward into the future.  
Providing a stable home for their much loved boy. 

Helen Reid was a different kettle of fish entirely. 

Well he remembered the first meeting with her. How struck he was by the obvious physical similarity, but also by the stark differences he detected in their personalities. 

In his private opinion also, as in his professional capacity he found Helen to be a complete contrast.  
The two women were polar opposites. Like the flip sides of a coin. Inextricably joined, and yet separate entities. 

This new sister presented as a somewhat troubled soul, manipulative and scheming, extremely strong willed. 

It was undoubtedly true that their upbringing had been totally different, a fact that may be the root cause of Helen's idiosyncrasies.  
The one twin comfortable and loved, the other, shipped from foster home to foster home. Institution to institution. 

During the telepathy tests carried out in his lab, it soon became evident to him, that Helen quickly got the measure of both her own and Carol's power. At first it was almost like a magic trick. Both women incredulous at the close bond they shared. Delighted in fact. 

Then something changed. Whilst Carol was open to letting her sister in, Helen realised that by doing the same her sister might pick up information she would rather not reveal.  
So she shut down, successfully training herself to block her twin out. Cutting her off almost completely. When it was her turn in the soundproof booth, to receive messages, she'd simply lied. Making up random pictures. Scuppering the entire experiment.

At the time Douglas wondered what had gone so wrong. 

Now it made sense. 

Helen Reid was learning. 

It was also clear that Carol felt the connection with her sibling as an almost painful thing. A missing part of her that she'd probably subconsciously wished for, that was now becoming reality. He distinctly remembered her saying that she felt that she was _'two people now'_. Recalling the recurring dream she'd related to him, of being one half of a whole, a piece in a jigsaw, suddenly becoming disturbingly real to her.  
She found it profoundly strange and upsetting. 

By contrast, Helen was almost triumphant. Latching on to all aspects of her sister's seemingly idyllic life. Playing on Carol's weaknesses and insecurities, turning them against her. Subtly undermining her status, position, and self worth. 

Rising from his seat, Douglas left his office with a protracted sigh, padding along the corridor to the vending machines. 

Placing his paper cup beneath the nozzle, he watched idly as the muddy brown liquid flowed in, gurgling and spitting as it did so. A final disconsolate squirt of milk, and the apparatus sputtered it's conclusion. 

Feeding his coins into the unit next to the drink dispenser, he chose a Mars bar. Listening as the correct amount rolled into the chute. 

Nothing came out. 

Monaghan gave an eye roll of frustration. 

"Bugger!"

A swift and well placed kick to the side of the machine made it give a geriatric whirr, springing to life. Depositing the chocolate with a clunk into the collecting trough at the bottom. 

Satisfied, he retrieved it before returning to his little sanctuary. 

So many thoughts were jumbled in his head. 

How could he possibly go to the police and tell them of his fears and suspicions?

His only concrete evidence? 

The two women tied their _shoelaces_ differently! 

They'd laugh him all the way to the funny farm. 

Yet, thinking back, so many things about the last week's events troubled him. 

Megan and Andrew, his colleagues, investigated as much as they could at his behest....but they had no authority, they were not the Law.  
_'Daleside'_ , where Helen spent her early years, had long since shut down.  
Tracking down now elderly foster carers who were willing to talk was difficult, not to mention highly unethical, but nevertheless it did bear some fruit.  
In her childhood Helen was described as aggressive and difficult. According to their informant's information and a report later gleaned from the local paper of the time, she resorted to fire for the first time at a young age, later torching the home of a foster family. Venting her anger and putting an end to something which threatened her.....the fear of being moved on to yet another home where she wasn't welcome. 

Had she done so again? 

How many times before and since?

Was this the source of Carol's vivid dream? Two identical little girls watching whilst a dolls house burned? 

Questions which were only answered with more questions. 

Diagnosed in 1973 as delusional, with a suspected behavioural disorder, Helen was shipped off to _'Mountbank'._  
A somewhat draconian institution for young offenders. A convenient and unexplained fire there sometime later destroyed many records.  
From there her life was decidedly sketchy. Falling through the cracks. Changing her name. Creating a hazy background for herself which she carefully manufactured. She'd done a very good job of successfully reinventing herself, covering her tracks. 

Yes. The Helen he knew was resourceful, devious and clever. 

Lies came easily to her. Guilt or worry didn't seem to trouble her the way it disturbed Carol. The Doctor knew of many untruths she'd told.  
Not least, her fabricated tale of employment as a fully qualified Primary School teacher, when in fact she was a junior teaching assistant.  
Employment from which, worryingly, she'd been dismissed for hitting a child. 

Monaghan reached for his sheaf of notes, thumbing through he began to consider all that he knew of her, which was far less than the homely familiarity of Carol....both from the surreptitious investigations of his colleagues, his own observations, and Carol's own fears. 

Worries she confided to him not as a medical practitioner, but as a friend. 

So keen at the time to be seen as an unbiased sceptic, ever the clinical psychologist......why had he not trusted his own inner voice, the voice which told him that something wasn't quite right? 

Carol confided in him that she suspected her sister of impersonating her, testing the waters, to see if she could pull off the deception.  
In the village shop it worked like a dream. Using her sibling's credit card.  
She'd also hinted at a Gordon's attraction to Helen, saying that she herself had previously thought of leaving him, but now Helen was showing an interest, she wanted her husband all the more. 

Then the police interview....with Gordon present. He was now sure that Helen had stage managed that, again pretending to be Carol, convincing both the detective inspector and, more importantly, the husband. 

In fact her ruse worked so well that it gave her courage, prompting her biggest attempt at deception later......to _him_ , whom she considered the biggest sceptic, the most difficult to sway, the hardest to convince.....more difficult even than Carol's own husband, who seemed beguiled by the whole thing, in his honest opinion. 

She could not know, then, that Carol had come to him a second time, with the folder she'd found under the bed in her sibling's room. The minutiae of _her_ entire life. Detailed and accurate. Dates. Times. Events. All the information she required to impersonate Carol were inside. 

Douglas berated himself severely for not being more concerned, for not taking his friend seriously. Even for not really believing her. Carol was clearly frightened. 

Alarm bells should have been ringing. 

Idly he wondered if that file had survived the blaze at the Fleming home. 

Standing, Monaghan paced the floor restlessly. Prowling up and down like a forlorn captured tiger in a small cage. 

He was now completely certain it was Helen, not Carol, who came to him to confess to killing O'Connor. Planting the seed. Even though, at the time, he was unconvinced. She was good....oh yes....but not quite good enough. It was his resulting confusion which made him rush to Carol's workplace to confront her. 

Hindsight was a bloody wonderful thing. 

Wracking his brain. Tying to recall every tiny detail. 

Chiefly, two things bothered him about Helen that day. 

The first being that she remained as cool as a cucumber when he arrived at the Fleming home, where she'd allegedly been all morning.....so calculated, very convincing, making a point of referencing her clothing, drawing his attention to it, knowing him to be observant.  
It was now his considered opinion that, seeing (who he know knew to be) Carol at the Art School not fifteen minutes after the frantic 'confession', there was no way she could have pulled off that same calm, unflustered, outward appearance had it not been genuine.  
She just didn't have that ruthless, mercenary streak in her. Carol Fleming was a fundamentally honest woman, with integrity. 

_Or was she?_

Oh Christ! 

Another thought struck him, leading him off at a tangent....

After all, he mused, pacing some more, Carol was embroiled in an illicit affair with a student......wasn't she? Carrying on behind Gordon's back......more secrets and lies.  
Although if the truth be known, Douglas didn't really comprehend how serious it had ever been on her part, or how long these trysts had been going on. It seemed to him that the liaison meant more to O'Connor than it did to Carol.  
She had seen it as more of an excitement, something daring to counteract the rut she felt herself to be in with Gordon. 

Suddenly, most noticeably when they met in the pub, she was apparently being evasive, paranoid, and downright shady. 

Douglas ceased his perambulations. Sitting down heavily again. 

It was all surmise. 

He knew nothing of the affair really. He wasn't even sure in his mind now, whether he knew Carol at all! 

Why would her own personality alter so much when a lost twin turned up out of the blue?  
It made no sense. 

Dr Monaghan thought back to his other recent meetings with Carol Fleming. Munching his way through the Mars bar. Ruminating slowly on each chocolatey mouthful. 

What did he know for sure? 

Aspects of her new found sister scared Carol. Making her feel threatened. She had come to him for reassurance, for advice. He'd let her down.  
This was the second thing that troubled him about Helen.....and it begged many more questions.....

Had Helen decided early on that she was going to take over Carol's life? Gradually wheedling her way in. Befriending Sean. Giving Gordon attention he'd been apparently lacking. Murdering Mike O'Connor, who was in the way of her plan, taking him out of the equation, but then trying to shift the blame onto her sibling to get rid of her in that way?  
If that was her plan, then it failed. Not enough for the police to go on. She'd even had to be very careful and very clever at the interview, not to incriminate herself in the process of blaming her sister. 

Just how well did she get on with Gordon and Sean? Well enough to want them for herself? 

God, the implication was horrific! 

First causing a rift between Carol and her spouse. Forcing Gordon's hand.  
Then, after husband and son left the marital home, out of the way, had she resorted to more permanent means?  
Her tried and trusted old method when she was cornered or things didn't go as she'd schemed?  
Torch the whole lot? 

Just what was this woman capable of? 

Oh, this was a bloody nightmare! 

For all he knew she even contrived the death of her own husband, because she so coveted Carol's happy life. Although there was no apparent evidence that the car accident was anymore than that....an accident, not that he knew of, nor that the police suspected at least. But then....they hadn't been looking. Didn't suspect foul play. Perhaps the whole thing required closer scrutiny. 

Sipping his coffee the doctor gave a grimace.  
Why did he continue to drink this disgusting sludge? 

The vicious caffeine hit turned his thoughts once more to Gordon Fleming. 

The hapless husband. 

Did he know? 

Surely a spouse would not be convinced so easily? 

He'd know his own wife. The mother of his child. Wouldn't he? 

_Surely he would_. 

Hadn't he intimated some grave doubts that very morning? 

_"When one twin dies I've read the surviving twin can take on some of the dead twins' traits. Is there any truth in that?"_

That's what he'd said, and it was perfectly possible that such a trauma as this could be an explanation for just that scenario. 

At the time he'd tried to reassure, not then realising the potential awful truth. Gordon's reply was....

"Well at least I got my wife back....." 

Shit! Had he though? 

Monaghan gave a puff of sheer frustration. 

Put himself in Fleming's place. 

Wouldn't Gordon try to do just what he appeared to be doing if he was unsure......try convince himself? 

After all, the alternative wouldn't bear thinking about. 

If the husband's own suspicions were correct, and he was almost sure they were.......Gordon stood to lose his wife, and Sean his mother, all over again! 

What loving father would willingly do that to his son? 

To stay silent and ignore his doubts would probably seem like the best option. 

Douglas put his head in his hands. 

Christ! What a bloody mess! 

Worse still, he felt partially responsible for it all. With his damn experiments and his pathetic book, he'd stupidly shown Helen what she was capable of. Maybe even planted the germ of the idea. It was certainly he that had provided Helen with invaluable information. How could he forget her innocent enquiry regarding the scientific methods available to tell identical twins apart? 

_"Only really by fingerprints or dental records...."_

Unwittingly supplying the perfect way for her to take her sister's place and have the love and life style she'd always craved. The things that always seemed to allude her throughout her life so far, and not be found out.

A happy marriage. A child. Being loved and cared for. 

Win.Win. 

A gentle knock came on the glass. 

Megan Sharma. 

"Come!" 

The attractive face peered round the door. 

"Penny for them Doctor Monaghan....I thought you were asleep there for a moment!" 

"Ha! No chance. Come in and have a seat....I need to run some things passed you...."


	2. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon wakes in the morning, to find himself in bed alone.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really where the story begins. 
> 
> Now, much of what I'm going to write in this tale, comes from what I interpret from the characterisations we are given on the tv show.  
> Gordon is rather a weak man. Kind and caring but weak. He's caught between the two identical women, but he doesn't really take his wife's part, he tries to stay on the fence, leaving Carol isolated, when a word from him would have made her feel better. The way he caves in to Helen's wiles, the strong attraction is obvious right from the beginning. He fancies her, and he can't help himself. That much is clear. 
> 
> As for Helen herself. Well, a more manipulative sly individual I've yet to see! She is equally out to get him, anyway she can, and she doesn't care who she tramples underfoot on her way there. 
> 
> So I'm writing her as quite a dominant character, and Gordon as quite submissive. 
> 
> He desperately wants it to work, and he desperately wants her to be his Carol, even though he may have fears that she isn't.  
> Where Helen is concerned, she knows she can't be completely herself, because it would be too obvious, so, she gives him a little Carol that he craves, but adds a little of the spice she thinks he wanted from Helen. 
> 
> Oh, and a word about THAT scene. I've heard it described in various levels of sexiness and hotness. Well, yes, that's true....BUT.....and it's a big BUT.....I always found the scene disturbing. Because to me, she rapes him.  
> He begs her to stop and she doesn't.  
> The fact that she's the woman and he's the man makes absolutely no difference. At least not to me. So. I've written that in. I'm sure there will be those who disagree with me, but that's fine. It's my story and I'll write it the way I see it. It's all I can do.

CHAPTER TWO.  
NEW BEGINNINGS.

Gordon Fleming opened his eyes on the first new day. 

Yawning and stretching. Turning over. 

He was alone in the bed. Crumpled covers beside him the only indication that he'd not been that way all night.  
Unaware of her slipping out from under the duvet at dawn and leaving him to sleep on. 

Exhausted. 

A bone numbing tiredness that he assumed was caused by the shock. 

Traumatised. 

Standing over the hospital bed of his wife. Feeling impossibly grateful that she'd survived. 

Torn between sorrow that Carol had lost her twin sister, but unspoken relief that it had been Helen that died. 

Gordon loved Carol. 

He always had. 

From the time they'd first met, throughout their marriage, the birth of their son and all the times after. It was true that recently they'd lost their way a little. Had ups and downs. Partly due to their hectic lives.  
Moving down here to the Ayrshire coast, they'd chosen to escape from the City, a chance to kick back, spend more time together.......Gordon wondered if it was enough for her. 

Peaceful. Idyllic. 

Recently Carol had been more distant with him. Before Helen showed up.  
They'd bickered. Been tetchy with each other. Making ends meet had been a strain. Their love life had suffered. That closeness he lived for. 

It was nothing he could really put his finger on. Just a certain distance and the fact that they had become rather staid and stuck in a rut.  
The cycle of work, responsibility and parenthood eclipsing the togetherness and fun. 

She'd stayed in town overnight a couple of times.  
Seminars she'd said.  
He suspected from the dark inference of the Detective Sergeant, that there'd perhaps been something between her and this student fellow. 

But he didn't want to know. 

Whatever it was, it was in the past. 

He was dead now anyway, and Gordon didn't want to think about that too much either. 

Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, he sat up. Brushing away the encroaching morbid thoughts. 

Rising. Crossing to the window of the rented chalet. 

Peering out through a gap in the closed curtains. 

He could see her. 

Down by the sea. 

Sitting on the remains of an ancient petrified piece of driftwood, bleached white with the passage of time, her back to him, staring, unseeing over the restless water. Motionless. 

Dressing hurriedly, pushing his bare feet into his shoes, he tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, made two mugs of coffee, and went out to join her. 

Wisps of fog trailed across the water, a distinct chill in the air. The grass wet with heavy dew, each blade of grass bejewelled. The moisture soon soaked his shoes and the hem of his trousers, but he didn't seem to notice. 

She turned to look at him as he reached her side. Lids red rimmed from crying. 

"Couldn't you sleep love?" He asked gently, lowering himself to sit beside her, their shoulders touching. 

Each cradling their steaming cups.

Scanning the vista before her, she swallowed thickly. 

"It's so beautiful here. Healing. Balm for the soul." Her voice was wistful, far away. 

"Aye." He replied. "It's why we came in the first place, remember?"

"I keep thinking about her." She added, sorrowfully, blowing on the surface of her drink before taking another sip. 

"'Course you do." 

His own eyes narrowed as he watched the clouds of mist curl and waver before him. A single bird flew across the dark sea, its wingtips almost touching the surface, a ghostly shadow which appeared to float as if held up by a piece of string. 

Bending to set down his mug, he turned his head to the side to look at her.

"Carol, I need to talk....I need to tell you stuff....I _have_ to, I can't stand this crushing feeling of guilt. Especially now _she's_ gone. I need to know you're okay with it, that we can move on.....start afresh...." 

The words petered out as her head came down to rest on his shoulder. 

"Me too." She whispered. 

Alerted by her sniffs, his arm snaked around her, drawing her towards him and keeping her there. Hearing her let out a long protracted sigh. 

Leaning his own head down against hers, Gordon remained silent for several moments, as if trying to find the right words. How to tell her, how to confess, to wash the slate clean. 

"It was _weird_ Carol....the whole thing." He began. "Her turning up like that. She was like you and yet not like you. Just.....I don't know.....different." 

"She was more attractive than me, wasn't she?" 

Gordon huffed. 

"No! It wasn't that! I don't know.....I don't even know what it was. I got sucked in by her, we all did....she did that....somehow.....I can't explain it....she was.....she was....." 

"Exciting?" 

"I guess....."

The word that first sprang to his mind wasn't that....had he been pressed, the word might have been 'manipulative', but he remained mute. 

Raising her head she looked at him closely, her eyes seemed harsh and dark with anger, but as he held her gaze steadfastly, not flinching in spite of all his guilt and shame, they appeared to soften, grow kind, and she gave a little smile. 

"You fancied her." She stated matter of factly, placing her now empty cup beside her feet. 

If it weren't for the fact that her face was calm and almost accepting, Gordon could have sworn he detected a hint of triumph in her expression.  
His confession, when it came, was a flurry of hasty sentences. 

"I hate myself." He launched. "We did _it_ Carol. I know I said that nothing happened, but it did......in the bathroom......that day......" his voice was small and apologetic, " on the floor....it happened so quickly.....I asked her to stop.....I did.....but she wouldn't. I couldn't _make_ her stop without hurting her.....without pushing her off. At first I thought it was you. Then I was sure it wasn't, but God forgive me, I still kept going. We were kissing, pulling at each other's clothes.....it was frantic, before I knew it she sort of pushed me down, straddled me and....." 

"She raped you......." 

"Well, I wouldn't go quite that far....I mean....I'm a man.....I could have forced her to stop. But I didn't. I'm so sorry."

"You asked her to stop Gordon. She didn't. That's rape. It makes no difference whether you're a man or a woman." 

"I never thought of it like that....."

"Listen. I don't blame _you_. Okay? I think she was out to get you almost from the start, to get back at me for some reason. She was jealous of what we had.....so she decided to take it for herself." 

"It wasn't all her Carol. If I had been less.......I dunno.....willing.....perhaps I led her on....I didn't consciously do it.....but she reminded me of something I thought you and I had once and lost.....I couldn't help myself.....I betrayed you....." 

He sank down, bowing over, one hand covering his eyes. A tremble running through his lean frame.

Two pale hands clasped his own. Tight. 

"Gordon. You're not the only one, I betrayed you too. I had an affair with O'Connor. We slept together..." 

Her husband sat upright slowly as the true magnitude of this bombshell hit him, a revelation he hadn't expected. 

"......I swear to God, it meant nothing." 

Their eyes locked. Boring into each other's like a glowing rivet being hammered home. Her hands gripped his forearms, squeezing the flesh until he could feel her fingernails digging in. 

"It was purely gratuitous. I was flattered. He was younger than me.....it was like an adventure.....like a scary ride when you can't look down.....I got carried away, just like you did with my sister. When I realised it wasn't what I wanted, how much it would hurt you, I decided to end the whole thing.  
Then Helen swanned in, met up with him pretending to be me, and told him to sling his hook. God! I was so angry with her at the time. Interfering _cow!_ Furious I was!  
But, you know what? She did me a huge favour....in fact, part of me was almost relieved when he was killed. He wouldn't be bothering me again.....I know that's a horrible thing to say, and I've no idea what happened to him.....but well......it was for the best. It was over." 

A cloud passed over Gordon's face. The heavy brow ridge furrowed as his thoughts tumbled. 

"So you lied to DS Crowther then......at the interview...you said there was nothing in it.....just a student/tutor relationship.....?"

Carol shook her head in annoyance and frustration. 

"I HAD to! Don't you see? I couldn't let him....or you....know that we'd ever been together. No one else knew. We'd been very careful on that score. Our brief affair bore absolutely no relevance to the fact he was killed. It was nothing to do with anything. Why complicate matters? It would just muddy the waters. Stop them finding the real culprit....I don't know why he was killed, but it was certainly nothing to do with me....us.....nothing whatever! You have to believe me!"

"I do believe you." 

His earnest response seemed to satisfy her. 

There was a softness in her face now that spoke of deep sadness and regret. 

"I was so stupid Gordon. Stupid and reckless. It's you I love.....have always loved. I want us to be happy, to regain what we've somehow mislaid along the way. I just want to be as we were. The two of us....."

"You mean three...."

For a moment she seemed puzzled. 

"What? Oh yes, of course.....but I meant what we had together at the start, before Sean.... _oh you know what I mean_....can you forgive me? Can we move passed this? I hope that we can?" 

Her eyes flicked momentarily to his mouth, then up again, a searching gaze. Asking the question, a silent entreaty.  
Left hand straying to his face, cupping one cheek gently, stroking a finger down his jawline, watching with satisfaction as he melted into the touch. 

All in a moment he seemed to cave. Moving in closer, pressing his lips to hers almost desperately. 

The kiss deepened and strengthened. His fingers tangled amongst her abundant curls of thick red hair. 

Devouring and hungry. 

It seemed to ignite her, causing her to press herself against him urgently until his balance on the log where they were perched became precarious.  
Breaking the passionate contact before they both fell, he pulled back, bringing a hand up to his wet mouth, breathless with desire, yet seemingly confused. 

"What is it?" She enquired silkily, sweeping her thumb across his shining lips, just as Helen had done in their kitchen, that evening when she'd sat herself astride him at the kitchen table and he'd been unable to resist her. 

"You......you kissed me like _she_ did......" he gasped, leaning away slightly, his countenance suddenly distrustful. 

For a second her eyes blazed, but then, to his great consternation, she threw back her head and laughed, before leaning forward, nuzzling her nose to his, placing little pecks against his mouth with evident amusement. 

"No Gordon!" She cooed sweetly, "I kissed you like your _wife!_ Admit it....that's one of the things that attracted you....about her.....she was more demonstrative, sexy.....naughty even....it excited you! Got you going! Well, this is the new me! I can do that! _I can_. I want to rekindle the flame sweetheart, go back to how it was when we first met.......recreate a little of the magic....." 

He was putty in her hands. 

Weak with lust. Pupils dilated, breathing hard, feeling the blood in his veins start to boil. 

"Well, you won't hear any complaints from me!" He whispered, renewing his assault on her lips. 

oOo

Gordon lay on his back. 

Staring up at the vision seemingly suspended above him. 

Two hands were pressing his chest down into the soft pillows. 

She had him right where she wanted him......underneath her. Straddling his body. Her thighs clasping him tight to hold him in place. 

In her thrall. 

Watching her now through half closed lids as she rose and fell. Letting out a little gasp of delight every so often as she rode him like a rodeo roan. Back and forth and up and down simultaneously. It was almost more than he could take.  
A groan of ecstasy leeched from him, rolling his head from side to side, but he could not escape.  
Didn't really want to.  
Utterly helpless.  
Being drawn inexorably to his conclusion and unable to do a thing about it. 

Her whispered instructions. A warning hissed through clenched teeth.

"Don't you dare Gordon..... _don't you dare!_ Not yet.....not yet...."

Trying desperately to hold himself back for her. Only knowing that he didn't want it to end.  
Inside his head there was not a single thought other than the sight of her milky skin, the movement of her breasts as she lifted, then sank down again.  
Her hair wild, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted slightly as she took her pleasure. 

Mesmerising. 

A tremor of fear mixed with excitement ran through him as she slowed her undulations, keeping him there on the very brink. As if toying with him. Her fingernails raked his flesh, across the sternum, marking him. The sharp pain melted into pleasure which almost blew his mind.  
_What the hell was she doing?_  
This was exquisite torture. 

"Please Carol...." he begged. 

With a little, knowing smile playing on her lips, almost as if to tell him he'd been a good boy, she deigned to continue. 

Every ounce of his brain power was now focused on completion. Closing his eyes, shutting them so tight that he saw stars.  
Gradually building and building, working him up until he was completely drowning in this feeling, the emotion, the strength of this stream of passion which flooded through him until he could do nothing but cry out before falling over the edge, spilling himself. 

When he chanced to glance up, she was still sitting there. Panting with the effort. 

He watched, fascinated, as a trickle of sweat ran down the cleft between her breasts.  
Such a smug and satisfied look on her face.  
He caught it for a mere second before it was gone and she lay forward over him, capturing his mouth, biting on his bottom lip and pulling back, making him moan. 

"God I love you Carol..." 

"New beginnings Gordon." She purred. "New beginnings." 

He was utterly beguiled.


	3. A Policeman's Lot...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Crowther is snowed under with work. He is not ecstatic when Doctor Douglas Monaghan arrives to see him....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DS Crowther appears in the programme pretty much as described, with my own fleshing and embellishment of course.  
> Just one note, in that, in the show it is stated that someone comes forward to give information about the O'Connor murder. I haven't deliberately left out this nugget of information, I'm just saving it for later in the piece.

CHAPTER THREE.  
A POLICEMAN'S LOT.

Detective Sergeant Nicholas (Nick) Crowther wore the air of someone who needed a good meal, a good wash and a damn good night's sleep. 

Frazzled barely covered it. 

His office was not dissimilar to the man. 

Painted a browny yellow, somewhat reminiscent of Colman's French Mustard, the room was decidedly shabby and tired.  
His desk, opposite which Monaghan perched on an uncomfortable plastic seat, was entirely covered with detritus.  
Computer keyboard, phone and a framed photograph of himself, with a smiling woman and two children almost buried under an avalanche of paperwork, files, old newspapers and childish artwork. 

_'To Daddy love from Kirsten and Ally.'_

Monaghan felt almost guilty that he would be adding yet another dossier to the pile. 

A pattern resembling the Olympic rings indelibly imprinted partly on the wooden surface and partly on the stack of papers, made from the many empty coffee cups which stood there, cold, congealed and abandoned, along with an abundance of empty triangular sandwich wrappers.  
In amongst these various hastily taken picnics were crisp bags, apple cores, banana skins and the stale uneaten crusts. 

By the side, a wicker waste basket. Filled to overflowing. Bearing the signs of many previous failed attempts to launch missiles into it.....most of which sadly missed their mark. Spilling its contents out onto the scuffed vinyl floor. The forlorn receptacle seemed to give the whole scene an air of disappointment. Missed opportunities. Ideas that fell short. Convictions that came to nothing. A moments euphoria snuffed out, hitting the wall and bouncing under the nearby filing cabinet. 

Monaghan glanced about him as the police officer tried his best to clear a space. 

Pin boards around the walls held various _'post it'_ notes, letters and the like which fluttered like butterflies in the breeze manufactured by an ancient _'cyclone'_ metal fan. This relic from another time whirred and squeaked continuously as it moved back and forth, but the careworn detective hardly seemed to notice.  
The crime scene photographs, articles and useful pieces of information impaled there in the cork, curled at the edges and waved helplessly with each sweep of draft, as if blown by a restless typhoon. 

The man in question ran his fingers through greasy brown hair, pulling it back away from his forehead, then letting it fall forwards with a spring. Fingertips massaging his temples distractedly, eyes screwed shut and mouth slack. The weight of the world on his shoulders. 

A tap on the door was followed by the appearance of a blonde feminine head, in the shape of a young Police Constable, peeping in through the gap she'd made. 

"Coffee Skip?" She enquired good naturedly, eyebrows arched in question. 

"That'd be great Rhona! You're a star." He replied, leaning back in the chair and regarding his visitor with narrowed eyes, which spoke of frustration as well as annoyance. 

"So! _Shoelaces!_ What the fuck am I supposed to do with that little nugget!" He enquired sarcastically. 

"Well I......" The Doctor began. 

"I mean! There's nothing to go on is there? Nothing but surmise and theory and no substance or evidence whatever! And what about the poor sod that's the husband? What of him?" 

"I know! The implications are horrendous....but....." 

"Honestly! Don't you think the unfortunate bastard has been through enough? And anyway......he'd know his own missus wouldn't he? Surely? I'd sure as hell know mine! Even if she did have an identical twin!  
No Monaghan....it won't wash....I know you mean well, and I hear what you're saying.....but really....what can I do?" 

"Is the investigation into O'Connor's death still ongoing?" 

"Well, yes....but I can't discuss that with you! You know that. There's precious little to work with. No one's talking. No one heard anything. Saw anything. There's no CCTV on the apartment block landing...it's like the guy materialised out of thin air, stabbed the fucker then disappeared in a puff of smoke." 

"You think it was a man then?" 

"Has the stamp of a male. Precise. Vicious. The blade went in almost to the spine. Took some strength that! A woman could have done it I suppose.....but.....well.....I dunno." 

"But what about Carol coming to me and saying she'd done it? What about that? Christ Nick....she _confessed_. Then at the Art School twenty minutes later, she was sitting there drinking coffee as calm as a cucumber. It was _Helen_. I know it. She did it and she tried to frame her sister." 

"But it's all circumstantial Douglas. There's no bloody evidence other than your word. Helen's dead. She's not here to either deny or corroborate is she?" 

" _Carol_ is dead Nick. Helen is at home with Gordon. I'm certain of it." 

"Well, if you can bring me some evidence, something to get my teeth into.....then maybe I'll look into it.....but right now I have an unsolved student murder, a kiddie gone missing in Paisley and an armed robbery to deal with. I don't have the resources nor the manpower to chase ghosts." 

Douglas Monaghan huffed with frustration. 

"But I don't have the power or the authority to go round asking questions....Helen won't talk to me because she damn well knows I _know_. Gordon just wants to be left alone to rebuild his life. He voiced certain concerns to me, but it's early days for him....he can't be sure....what else can I do? Tell me and I'll do it! A woman has been murdered here, not to mention O'Connor, plus that husband of hers, and I feel at least partially responsible....I can't just let it rest, I have to do something!" 

"Well, let's see. The time you say Carol came to you....to confess.....where was Carol meant to be at that time?" 

"In class I suppose. She was teaching Renaissance art that day...I remember her telling me sometime before." 

"Then you maintain that you rushed straight over to the Art School and she was sitting in the cafeteria drinking coffee, cool as you like....?" 

"Yes." 

"And how do you know it wasn't Helen you saw in the cafe?" 

"Because I drove straight over to the Fleming house afterwards and Helen was there. Said she'd been there all morning....with Gordon. She told me Carol was unstable and should be sectioned. She said she was worried about Gordon....that he and Sean may not be safe. Then she drew my attention to what she was wearing....in comparison to Carol. She made a point of doing that because she knew how observant I was. It was Carol in that cafe Nick. I know it....she hadn't a clue what I was on about, when I barged in.....she couldn't have been that calm and unflustered and pulled it off....she couldn't have." 

"And yet you say she was having an illicit affair with O'Connor? And not a soul knew.....?"

"Oh for fucks sake! That's different!" Monaghan threw up his hands in mock surrender. 

" _How_ is it different? It's all secrets and lies. Seems to me that both twins were expert masters of deception!" 

"NO! I _knew_ Carol....she was a friend, she wasn't capable of such evil things. Having an affair with someone is something that happens....marriages go through rocky patches. But Helen Reid had been a manipulative deceiver all her life. Meghan and Andrew discovered as much....resorting to torching everything if things went wrong....it was her trademark. She is clever, resourceful and determined. And now she's got what she wanted...what she didn't have before but that her sister possessed. She's got a lovely home, a son and she's got Gordon." 

Detective Sergeant Crowther frowned. Inside his head cogs were turning.  
For some stupid, ridiculous, mad reason, he believed this crazy Doctor. Call it instinct. Call it what you will.  
Such was his conviction. His honesty. His integrity. He seemed so sure.  
Sitting forwards in his chair, interlocking his fingers in front of his face, he leaned on the knuckles thoughtfully. 

"How's this?" He intoned wearily. "What if I send the very competent PC Rhona to the Art School? To check on the CCTV in the classroom that Carol was teaching in? If Carol Fleming was large as life in class at exactly the same time as she was supposed to be confessing murder and mayhem to you, then it must have been her sister, right? I mean, even _she_ can't be in two places at once, and I'm assuming that Helen Reid could not have pulled off teaching Michelangelo to a group of knowledgeable students convincingly?" 

Monaghan's face brightened. 

"No, she most certainly could not!" He agreed. "She's clever. But she's not that clever." 

"And can you corroborate the precise time that Helen slash Carol came to see you?"

"I think so.....she'll be on the CCTV at the University.....both on arrival, in the reception foyer and on the car park cameras, where she eventually caught up with me. I still have my parking ticket somewhere, it gives the precise time I left to go to the Art School." 

"Good!" The DS replied with satisfaction. "Well, lets go from there then, shall we? At least I won't be accused of flagrant misappropriation of tax payers money, and we'll perhaps get some answers!"

Standing, Douglas held out a grateful hand. 

"Thank you....thank you sincerely." He said with some relief. 

"It's okay. Now fuck off and let me get on with my work!" He smiled amiably. 

oOo

In the bathroom mirror Gordon surveyed the red welts across his chest. 

She hadn't drawn blood but they would take several days to fade. 

Even looking at them caused a flutter in his stomach, that head rush augury of the sensation of desire. 

Downstairs he could hear her moving about. Making breakfast. 

They'd warned him her recovery would take time. That this trauma could adversely affect her and leave her vulnerable. Not to mention the smoke inhalation she'd suffered.  
He was determined to do anything he could to ease her mind, help her get back to herself again. 

So lucky. 

He'd got his wife back. 

It could so easily have been different. Had Carol been killed instead he'd have been a widower, with Sean to support and raise alone.  
The thought made him shudder involuntarily. 

Hurriedly buttoning his shirt and heading to the kitchen. 

Standing with her back to him at the stove, she was busy scrambling eggs. 

"What's all this?" He said softly. Threading his arms around her waist affectionately. 

Leaning back she nuzzled against him. 

"What does it look like?" She smiled. 

"But Sean doesn't like eggs......" 

"I _KNOW_ that!" Her giggle was girlish. "These are for us, I've done plenty of bacon for Sean." 

"He'll wonder what's up! He's used to you being in a hurry to get to work, foisting him off with porridge or, worse, muesli!" 

"Well, today I'm spoiling him, bacon, sausage and potato scones. Is he stirring yet?" 

Releasing his grip, Gordon turned away to pour coffee for himself and for her. 

"Yeah. He's just dressing. Listen, I'll do the school run for now, sweetheart. You just take your time and concentrate on your recovery. I've got some work to finish this morning, but maybe we'll go for a stroll later together eh? Breathe the air, relax....." 

"That sounds wonderful....."

Before she could finish, the thundering clatter of boyish elephant feet could be heard descending the stairs.  
Spying the cooked breakfast, his eyes widened with pleasure. 

"Oh! _Mum!_ You're the best!" 

Rushing to her, the pair enveloped each other in the tightest of hugs. His face pressed into her, she, placing multiple pecking kisses on the top of his gingery head, whilst humming into his scalp. 

"Mmmmmmmmm!! Mwa mwa mwa......" She rocked him from side to side. 

Watching this little scene play out Gordon Fleming was almost overcome with emotion. His eyes filled with tears and he turned away hurriedly. 

'Thank god! Thank god!' He thought, smiling inwardly. 'We CAN start over. Christ! But I love them both so much!'

His wife held an arm out to him, beckoning, inviting him to join his family in a group hug. Drawing the threesome close together. 

"I've got you both! I'm so so lucky." Carol whispered, sniffing significantly. 

"Can I eat now! I'm starving!" Their son tore himself away and set to with knife and fork, demolishing his plateful in less time than it took to prepare it. 

Gordon allowed himself a moment to breathe. 

Yes. He was lucky indeed. It could have ended so horribly. But it didn't. They were here. They were safe.  
He had a great deal to thank Helen for in a way. She'd woken him up, shown him what was really important in his life, and he was damn fortunate to still have it.


	4. Dreams and Awakenings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bracing beach walk turns tender....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more of the growing dynamic between Gordon and Carol here. Before Helen's arrival in the show, the pair were obviously in trouble. Their marriage was on the rocks. Carol tells Monaghan that she'd intended leaving him. It was she who had embarked on an affair. Gordon seemed just shut off and very solitary, which is why I think he responded so readily to Helen. He was flattered by the attention certainly but it was more than that, I think he saw in her what his own wife _could_ be. Apart from the very hot scenes between Gordon and Helen there is also a scene between the two sisters, where they are discussing their differences. Carol says that she was never very forward with men. To which Helen replies _'men? That's easy'._ It's a small thing but I picked up on it because it says a lot to me about her character, this is why I'm writing their relationship the way I am. 
> 
>  
> 
> The carrot scraping scene appears in the show, and I've adapted it to fit the story.

CHAPTER FOUR.  
DREAMS AND AWAKENINGS. 

 

The afternoon turned fine. Morning cloud and drizzle melted away with the promise of warm sunshine. 

Skies here were high and wide. The islands and the Mull of Kintyre seemingly floating in the dark restless depths of the sea.  
Puffs of cloud scudded high like mare's tails in the blue. 

Even though spring was in the air one still required a jacket and stout shoes against the damp. 

Carol walked with her arm tucked through her husband's elbow. Labouring a little as she strolled, her face pinched and pale.  
The shingle at her feet seemed viscous, sapping her limited energy, making it hard to keep her balance.  
Although the breeze was not strong, it flapped at her floral headscarf, making her squint her eyes against its power. 

"You okay darling?" 

A mere nod in response. 

Gordon was quite the gallant. Chivalrous and terribly attentive. 

She sometimes found herself just staring at him. Drinking him in. 

So handsome she thought. Not in a matinee idol way, much better somehow. Attractive.  
The firm ridge of his brow. His large nose. Lips which positively begged to be kissed.  
Carol allowed herself the indulgence of this reverie as he tramped across the beach beside her completely unaware that her train of thought lingered entirely upon him. 

After a mile or so they separated slightly, having reached a bend in the shoreline where the wind was not so penetrating.  
Wandering along the waters edge where little wavelets swept in ceaselessly, threatening to swamp his boots if he wasn't quick enough.  
Stooping, he selected a flat stone and she watched as, casting it at an angle, he observed with satisfaction the way it skipped, before repeating the exercise several times more, with varying success.  
Turning, giving her that certain smile, crunching back to her side again, letting their hands meet and join, the fingers clasping around each other's. The lurch she felt as his thumb swept absentmindedly across the top of hers. 

"This is so nice Gordon." She remarked, leaning into his side. "It's all I ever wanted. I know that now. What a fool I was." 

"Hush! Don't speak of it any more. We've agreed. A fresh start, wash away the stain of the past. Okay?" 

His eyes sought hers, seeking reassurance and affirmation. Drawing her towards him. 

Smiling by way of a reply, her hand came up to his face, tenderly stroking there. Moving in closer. Kissing him gently at first, then, as she felt his eager response, strengthening the connection until he was gasping for breath.  
Held in his almost crushing embrace, she could see his eyes were tightly closed, lost in the moment, a flush of colour rising in his cheeks. Gently, she pulled back and he followed her, leaning his weight forward, one hand trying to snake its way inside her jacket. 

_"Gordon!"_

Her voice was soft, but carried a hint of warning. 

Losing his grip he shifted away from her, regaining balance and composure, pupils dark but lids lowered as if in shame. 

"Sorry." He panted. "Got carried away." 

"I should think so!" She scolded with mock annoyance, her countenance at once stern and fierce. 

His face changed, filled with contrition, but she thought she saw a moment of fear flash behind the blue green eyes. 

Pinching his cheeks between thumb and forefinger she gave a little laugh. 

"Gordon.....sweetheart....I'm teasing you." She said softly, leaning into him again. 

The shoulders visibly relaxed. 

"Carol, I'm sorry. I feel like we are getting to know each other all over again. I'm finding it hard, this _'new you'_. I'm never sure if you're joking around or not. Really.....you don't have to try to be bits of your sister....I was perfectly happy with the way you were before....that's why I fell in love with you, married you."

The frown that swept across his wife's face was not attractive. It was more a scowl, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. 

Stepping away from him, she almost stumbled, turning more angry as she backed away. 

"You weren't though....were you? That's why you fucked Helen and you couldn't help yourself, that's why I felt things were so shit between us that I fell into the arms of one of my students! You saw in Helen something you'd never seen in me! God Gordon! You _WANTED_ her.....well, now you can have her...and me!" 

Seeing the changes in emotion sweeping in waves across the face of the man, hearing his muttered protestations and denials, realising how hurt and upset he was, she immediately softened.  
Gordon Fleming witnessed her whole stance change in an instant, as if a button had been pressed. Suddenly she was his Carol again. Vulnerable, a little insecure, tearful. 

Sinking down onto the shingle, head in hands, sobbing. 

Running to her he fell to his knees, arms wrapped around her head and shoulders. Cradled there. 

"Oh Carol....please forgive me! I'm so sorry.....I _know_ you're not her, and you're quite wrong on that count. She _wasn't_ what I wanted. It was just moments of madness and frustration, that's all. You're my wife. _You're_ the one I love." Holding on to her so tightly, a tear beginning to spill down his own cheek.  
"We _have_ to be honest with each other to move forward, and I will be, I promise, I'll tell you everything....all my inner fears and feelings....my fantasies....anything....just don't shut me out again, don't walk away. I can't bear it. I need you. Sean needs you. We love you."

He could not see the smile which creased her face as it was pressed against his jacket. 

oOo

"I'll help prepare dinner. What can I do?"

She passed him a bag of carrots and a peeler. 

It was almost pathetic how he tried to please her. There was almost nothing he wouldn't do. She was sure of it.  
Now all she had to do was work her magic on the son and everything would be fine. 

The life she'd always dreamed of, within her grasp. 

A gorgeous man....so different from her own ex husband, her old Gordon. A bullish brute who spoke to her like dirt and constantly tried to control her once they were married. He was too outspoken, too controlling and far too overbearing.  
Well, she'd seen to _him!_

Gordon Fleming, in contrast, was like a sweet eager puppy.  
Promise him a little fire in the bedroom, tease him with a kiss or a touch and he was as malleable as pastry dough. Ready to be moulded and shaped. Tail wagging at her every whistle.  
He tried to hide it, but she knew him better than he knew himself, he so wanted it to be true.  
Subconsciously desiring a bit of Helen, a little danger, it was there behind the eyes. It excited him, she could see it plain as day.  
To be taken in hand, to be a little more submissive. Perhaps not requiring complete dominance, but certainly leaning that way.  
Right from the start she'd sussed him out, seen the little glances he gave her when he thought her sister might not be looking. 

It was child's play. 

Speaking of child.....

Sean would take a little more effort.  
Giving the boy everything he wanted would not work in the same way as it did the father.  
Indulgence must be tempered with a certain authority.  
Early on she'd detected a hint of suspicion after his initial relief when she came out of hospital, and that must be stamped out. He must be in absolutely no doubt she was his parent. 

Right at this moment he was playing on his play station. 

Moving through to the lounge she leaned against the doorpost. 

"Don't you have homework to do young man?" 

A youthful scowl. 

"Come on! You know the rules. Homework, then play......and no rushing through it either, otherwise that machine will be switched off till the weekend!" 

"Oh muuuummmm...." Came the exasperated whine. 

"Don't _'oh mum'_ me! If you complete it all and receive a good grade, then maybe we'll go to that adventure park you were banging on about the other week....if I'm feeling up to it....but only if mind....." 

The boy's face lit up. 

"Seriously?" 

A knowing parental wink. 

"The Battle of Bannockburn! _Go!_ Get on with it!" She replied, pointing to the stairs.

A scurry of feet and he was gone. Palm controller abandoned on the floor. 

Returning to the kitchen, her husband wore a wry smile. 

"Nice one!" He commented. 

"Well! He deserves a treat. It's been difficult for him, these last weeks. What with the fire, being taken away from home, losing the auntie he'd grown to love and trust. Who knows how a child processes all these things? I was wondering about youth counselling for him, what do you think? Give him someone other than you and I to tell his thoughts and concerns to?"

Gordon considered, scraping another carrot distractedly. 

"I spoke to the school, both to the Head and his class teacher, when he went back on Monday, asked them to tell me if they had any concerns....I've heard nothing as yet. He's a resilient lad, kids are, but I dunno....I'm happy to go with what you think....maybe we'll mention it to him....see what he says...hmmm?"

Her hands were laid gently atop his, arresting the movement. 

"Fine, as long as you're sure. Darling, I think that's enough carrot, do you? We'll all certainly be able to see in the dark if we eat that lot." 

Staring down at their joined hands, then raising his gaze to meet hers. The look one of such devotion. 

"I wasn't concentrating......" he began apologetically. 

Moving round behind him, she threaded her arms around his waist, but made sure one hand brushed purposefully against his fly. 

"It's okay Gordon, I know where your mind is." She whispered sweetly.


	5. So it Begins.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DS Crowther is forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, Monaghan was right.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An awful lot was made of the scene in the show where 'Carol' went to see Monaghan, it was left as a fairly ambiguous lose end which was never really tied up.  
> So it's importance here is obvious. 
> 
> Tunnocks tea cakes....a chocolate covered marshmallow on a biscuit base. One of your 'five a day' in Scotland! 
> 
> The scene where Gordon leaves the marital home, taking Sean with him, is one which really stuck out for me. You see the boy's face through the car window, and the contrast between his mother, who is distraught, and Helen, who most certainly isn't. 
> 
> I wanted to really bring Sean Fleming into this story as I felt he had a crucial role to play. He will become more important and the tale progresses.

CHAPTER FIVE.  
SO IT BEGINS. 

Police Constable Rhona Jameson entered the office of her superior bearing gifts. 

Tea and treats to be precise. 

She was a welcome sight. 

Detective Sergeant Crowther admired the lass a great deal. Not in _that_ way....god forbid! He was a happily married family man, but he was sure that one day, she'd go far. It was true that she was still young and idealistic but there was something about her quick razor sharp mind that impressed him. 

"Sit down." He gestured to the infamous plastic chair. "Join me." 

"Thank you Sir."

A little smile flitted across her face as she lowered herself demurely into the seat opposite his desk.  
Such a well presented young woman too. Her blonde hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Shoes polished. Didn't overdo the makeup like some of the 'dolly bird' PC's he knew. She wasn't in the job for the kudos or the glamour, or to impress her male superiors with what she thought they wanted, she was there because she wanted to make a difference. To help people.  
He was aware that she stoicly endured the japes and whistles, the snipes and sexism of her colleagues, he also knew that, had she been a man, she'd have been promoted by now. 

It irked him greatly. 

Reward should come from hard graft and application, not gender and secret handshakes. 

Far superior in both gumption and intellect to her male counterparts at the station, she had to work doubly hard, be twice as committed and put in half as many hours again, just to be taken seriously, let alone noticed by the powers that be. 

Progress! What a joke. 

"What's up Skip?" She enquired, carefully removing the lid on the polystyrene cup before sipping the hot tea inside. 

Nick Crowther reached for, unwrapped, and munched on a Tunnocks tea cake thoughtfully. 

"I'm working on this missing kiddie case with the Chief. It's not pretty, I think the Dad might be involved." 

Rhona grimaced. 

"Did you get time to chase up that Fleming case?" He asked, showering crumbs down the front of his jacket. 

"As a matter of fact I did. There's a DVD and I've printed off some stuff.....it's on my desk. Shall I fetch it?" 

"Please do." 

She was out of the chair and off down the corridor like a shot. Watching her go, the careworn DS chuckled to himself, shaking his head fondly.  
Wishing that the job and life in general wouldn't gradually wear her down, destroy her faith and her humanity. Churn her out of the sausage machine that was Glasgow City Police, and make her into an old cynic like himself. 

Shortly she returned. A sheaf of papers and a disc in hand. 

"Monaghan was correct, Sir." 

Loading the DVD into the player and spreading the pages on the desk before him, she indicated the relevant images.  
"In this respect anyway." She added.  
Crowther leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the blurry pictures, then watched the screen. 

"This is footage from the classroom. Time and date top right. Here she is, entering.....at 10.53.....and here are the students arriving shortly after. Fast forward an hour. She gathers her stuff and leaves shortly after the bell goes at 12.07." 

"Hmm. Seems clear enough. Do we see her again anywhere else?" 

"As a matter of fact we do. In the corridor which leads to the cafeteria. Hang on. " Taking the remote, Rhona ran the film forwards. "12.12. She stops to chat to someone.....just.....here. Then enters the cafe. Oh and at reception, there's a brief shot of Monaghan arriving about 15 minutes or so later. The final clip I got is when she leaves the refectory at five to one." 

"Good work! What about the University?" 

"Ah, now there I hit a brick wall. Their tapes are wiped at the end of each week, so there's nothing. But there's no evidence whatsoever of Carol Fleming leaving that building....I trolled through all the camera footage for all the exits for at least an hour each side of the time stated. I mean....it's not conclusive, but unless she shinned down a drainpipe she didn't leave that bloody building. No way." 

"Christ! I knew that fucker Douglas was going to be right. I could feel it in my water! You know what this means don't you PC Jameson?"

"Sir?" 

"It means we've damn well got to take him seriously, that's what it means......look into this nutty professor's ravings! Because he just might _not_ be mad, and they just might _not_ be crazy notions, and if so, this woman might possibly have killed three people already.....which means that the husband and the kid probably aren't even safe. Fucking hell! I hate this job sometimes!" 

oOo

Sean Fleming had told a lie. 

It was a bit of a whopper, but he didn't have time to worry about that. 

He had only one thought on his mind. 

Waiting impatiently for the bus. The bus that would take him to the next village. The village where his old home was.  
Not the rented chalet you understand, but his _home_ home. 

Alighting at the nearest stop, he shouldered his school bag and ran. Down the main street, which was the only street as it happened, passed the village post office and shop, and onto the grassy track which led up to the house. 

There it stood. All alone. 

Blackened and forlorn. 

Ever since that day he'd been craving to return. His father had forbidden it, and he most certainly didn't want to bother him whilst he was bogged down with hospital visiting. But now he _had_ to. He needed to. He wanted to see it with his own eyes. 

No one must know. His dad would be angry, or even upset, he'd probably get into terrible trouble....

The moment he was frogmarched down the front path and bundled into the car by his father, stayed lodged in his memory.  
_"Sort it out you two."_  
Or something like that. That's what his dad had said.  
Inside the car, peering out of the back window. 

That was the moment frozen in his mind. The moment he couldn't shake and saw everytime he closed his eyes.  
The two of them. His mum, running down the path, in tears. His Auntie Helen, standing back in the porch, with a gleam in her eye that spoke of....of what.....? He didn't know. Couldn't guess. He only knew it wasn't a nice look. 

It was a look he'd seen several times since. 

So that was why he was here. Why he had to return. 

Had to. 

So he could be sure.

The building lowered gloomily, seemingly staring back at him. Brooding, menacing almost.  
Wind whispering and moaning through its smashed and blown out lower windows. A charred curtain remnant billowed in the stiff breeze. 

Police crime scene tape fluttered around the perimeter. Cordoning off the garden as well as the house.  
It was four o'clock by now and the forensic teams were still there, sifting painstakingly through the debris. 

He mustn't be seen.  
Not that he was here to go inside the house itself. He wasn't. 

It was the shed to which he was so desperate to return. 

At the back of his home stood a painted wooden outhouse. His parents had done it out for him as a kind of den.  
When his mates came over, it was here that they could sneak away, especially during inclement weather. To be private, to talk about and do the things that ten year old boys liked to do.  
Listen to music, talk about films or TV shows they liked. Make stuff. Have a laugh.  
Although his bedroom upstairs was his own domain, there were things he wanted to keep secret.  
It wasn't anything mind blowing, just stuff he didn't want his parents to know about.  
To this end he'd made a hidey-hole. 

Under the bench at the back. 

In it were his snack stash.....treats his mum didn't want him to have too many of; some songs which he and his mate Angus were tinkering with....to be used one day when they were both pop stars; a diary he kept of momentous events; treasures he'd collected on the beach, but most importantly in the current circumstances, two battered photo albums. 

These were the items for which he'd risked hell and damnation, plus the wrath of his mum and dad, which was probably worse than the former, to retrieve them. 

The incident which lead him to hide them here in the first place had been an odd chain of events. 

His thoughts swirled backwards as he gazed up at the place he once called home, ducked down slightly behind the boundary wall...... 

.....It had been a pretty ordinary day, as days went. He'd come home from school a little earlier than usual due to parents evening, instead of Gordon collecting him, he'd been dropped off in the car at the bottom of the lane by a friend. 

In this way, his approach to the house had gone unnoticed. He knew his dad was working because he could hear him in his little study room. Mum was still at the Art School and would be home late. He wasn't sure where Auntie Helen was.  
She'd been staying with them a while now, and at first he loved it. Lots of attention, and being spoiled rotten by her.  
Then he realised something.  
The times when Helen was especially nice to him were often the times when the two sisters were alone in the house together.  
Something about that was upsetting his mother. There was a distinct atmosphere. One which even a child could detect.

On another occasion he'd walked in on his mum and dad whispering angrily together in the kitchen, before spotting Auntie Helen eavesdropping from the stairs. That look he'd seen when his father had driven him away was there on that occasion too, in fact it was the first time he really noticed it. Although he couldn't understand what it meant. 

These events made him wary and a little scared, although he didn't really comprehend the reason. It wasn't that he felt threatened, just that there was a presence, a certain malevolence, a creeping sensation which unsettled him. 

From then on he was careful to avoid being alone with his new found aunt when his mother was around, if he possibly could. 

That day however, as he moved passed the living room door in his socked feet, having kicked off his shoes in the hallway, he saw something.  
Intending to creep up to his bedroom, grab some stuff, then go down to the shed, a stealthy movement from within caught his eye. 

Slowing to a halt, he slid against the wall and peered in through the gap in the door. 

Auntie Helen was there. Ferreting about in the shelved dresser where the books, photo albums, DVD's and such were kept.  
Taking down two of the albums, he watched, fascinated, as she flicked through them hurriedly. Listening out from time to time, craning her head to detect movement from his dad upstairs as she did so. 

Now these albums were private in his eyes. Belonging to them and them alone. They consisted of family snaps, of days when Sean was not even a twinkle. Intimate portraits of his mum and dad as a couple, holding each other, kissing, and then some with himself as a new baby.  
Why was she nosing into them? 

His eyes widened further, as, peeling back the plastic page cover, she removed a couple of the best pictures, sliding them into a pocket, before replacing the albums in the exact place she'd found them. 

Sean tip-toed to the kitchen. What should he do? Keep quiet? Say something to Helen? To his mother? Somehow, none of these options seemed appropriate. 

What he'd witnessed unnerved him to such an extent that he hardly slept that night.  
What did she want with these photos? Why was she snooping so furtively?  
He found himself becoming increasingly rattled. 

So much so, that the following day, when he was sure he was briefly in the house alone, his dad and Helen having gone for a walk, mum down in the village shop, that he did a terrible thing. 

He snuck into her bedroom, searched until he found the pictures she'd taken, stole them back, replaced them in the album, then, pressing the two volumes firmly against his chest and zipping his jacket over them, he left the house and made for his secret hidey-hole. 

This was where he headed now. Skirting around the cordon like a cat, towards the back garden. Sidling along the wall and scurrying commando style into the shed. 

Thank god. They were still there. 

It was almost with reverence that he took them out. 

Turning the pages slowly. Leafing through. 

These pictures were now precious possessions. 

For all he knew, every single memento of 'before' had been reduced to ashes. 

But these remained. And they were sacred. 

Because they were taken at a time when he was sure. 

Their wedding day. Holding each other close, smiling, kissing. His parents looked so happy. Relaxed....and real.  
Then a few of Gordon cradling him in his arms. Pushing him in his buggy. His first steps, his first Christmas.  
With them both there.  
Loving each other.  
Loving him. 

Without realising it, he was crying.  
Sniffing and blubbing and unable to stop. 

The best times. 

Before Auntie Helen. 

Before everything went wrong. 

With a supreme effort, he dried his eyes. Blew his nose, calmed himself. Stashed the albums back in their safe place. 

Sprinting all the way to the bus stop, he arrived only just in time....

...

Stepping down as the bus pulled into his stop, he could see his father marching along the road towards him. 

"Christ Sean. There you are! Where the bloody hell have you been? I was worried." 

"Sorry dad. I nipped to Angus's house to play footie....forgot the time." 

More lies. 

"I was about to send out the search party!" 

His dad fell into step at his side, one hand comfortingly on his son's shoulder. Reassuring. Caring. 

"Mum's done sausages for tea....they'll be done to death. You'd better be profuse with your apologies!" 

"Sorry da. I will."


	6. Slow Progress.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol is playing games.....and Gordon is more than willing.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I have written the use of a scarf before with Malcolm but in a totally different context to this one.  
> So yes, I have visited this before, but no, it's nowhere near the same. 
> 
> Carol is used to manipulating people. She's done it all her life. Everything she does is calculated to benefit herself more than anyone else. She always has ulterior motives when she is being kind or nice. 
> 
> She uses sex as a weapon. 
> 
> And I suspect she always has. She's learned through experience what she thinks men want and how easy it is to draw them in. Gordon is no exception.  
> She likes the control, it brings her psychopathic tendencies to the fore. Each time Gordon might be sceptical she is totally plausible in the excuses and explanations she gives him. She is the master manipulator and this is something which she will gradually build on in the future. Gordon's main problem is that somewhere deep down, he wants this. It makes her job all the easier!

CHAPTER SIX.  
SLOW PROGRESS.

Carol lay back into the soft pillows, smoking a cigarette lazily. 

Her face that of someone thoroughly satisfied, in utter bliss. 

Beside her, also on his back, lay Gordon. 

Wrecked. 

His body a sheen of perspiration. Head and heart pounding in equal measure. 

Nude, on his knees at her feet she had him worship her. Whilst she sat, fully clothed, on the edge of the mattress, legs apart, arching her back as she felt his tongue, petting his hair and telling him how sweet he was.  
"Who do you belong to Gordon?" She asked, in a voice as sweet as syrup.  
"You Carol. I belong to you." Came the emphatic response.  


Evidently satisfied with his reply, she'd arranged him carefully on the bed, tied a silken scarf over his eyes, instructing him to keep his hands out of the way. Let him experience all the delicious and exciting sounds and smells around him whilst being blind. Heightening his senses until they reeled.  
Touching and teasing him all over, bringing him so close until she could see the signs, knowing he wouldn't last much longer, then easing back and watching as he panted and whined with unfulfilled desire.  
What a delightful sight that was! 

His skin so pale. The striations she'd made on it previously, still so pretty and pink against it. 

Carol knew she must take her time. Too much too soon and he'd rebel.  
No!  
_Slowly slowly catchy monkey._

She didn't dare introduce anything else. Not today. 

Keep him dangling. Wanting more. 

He was already hooked. She knew that. 

By the time she allowed him enter her he was already so far gone that he could barely hold on. Still she chastised him one more time, she just couldn't resist it. Tweaking his nipples between her forefinger and thumb, until he cried out.  
Seeing his head thrash from side to side. The sinews in his neck tighten. Sucking in air desperately. Exquisite pain. 

Then carefully gauging the moment at which she knew he couldn't take any more, needing to let go.

"Wait!" She instructed curtly. "Not till I've counted to five...." 

"Oh God!" He gasped. A hoarse whisper, before the breath caught in his throat and he finally came.

There were tears in his eyes. 

Bless him! 

...

"Did you manage to talk to Sean? About the counselling?" She asked nonchalantly, letting a stream of smoke out through her pursed lips. 

Gordon couldn't yet formulate a reply. 

His white arms were thrown up above his head in a gesture of surrender. Stomach heaving in and out as he recovered himself. 

"Why did we never do this before?" The voice was reed thin, no more than a choking hiss. 

"Because you never expressed any desire for it." She responded tartly. "Until Helen came along, and then I could see it in your eyes.....and what's more, so could she!" 

Turning onto her side to face him, she continued, somewhat abrasively.

"I thought we needed to retrieve our marriage, Gordon. A little spice. Especially after all that's happened. Seems like you agree! So I thought....why not try some new things? As long as you're up for it, that is?" 

Her husband could only nod his head to the affirmative. 

There was that little smile playing on her lips again. 

"So did you speak to Sean, or not?"

"Actually the school rang me." Gradually the throb that ran through his entire body evened out. His speech, or at least the ability to speak, returning. 

"They're concerned about him. This week he's been very quiet and unusually inattentive, there's been an argument with another boy in the playground which turned nasty, all apparently completely out of character. They've asked us both to go in." 

"Sounds like the counselling can't come a moment too soon." She replied, reaching an arm over him to tamp out her cigarette in the ash tray on the bedside table.

"What time do they want us?" She trailed a hand across his chest, brushing against his tender nubs as she did so.  
A sharp wheeze came from him, a little cry. Leaning over him again, with a soft _" awww, sore?"_ she let her tongue flick out, first on one side, then the other, laving them with her spittle whilst he held his breath, fingers gripping the pillowcase on either side of his head. 

"Mmmmm, so good!" She murmured, before sitting up, releasing him from the spell. 

"After school tomorrow...." He croaked. 

oOo

The flat Rhona Jameson shared with her mate Laura was close to the city centre. It was perhaps not the most salubrious of areas but it was near her work and handy for everything else. 

Seated crossed legged on the floor, she sipped from a large glass of wine. Spread on the rug in front of her were several accident investigation photographs which she'd requested from Traffic and which had arrived shortly before she knocked off that afternoon.  
Laura wandered in, yawning, clad in a fleecey onesie and enormous furry slippers which were like two clawed bears feet. 

"What's all this?" 

"Road traffic accident, some months ago.....I'm trying to see if there's anything to suggest it may have been deliberate." She replied, without looking up. 

"God! Your job! Spending your evening poring over mangled wreckage.....fucking fun times!" 

"I've read the reports through and through, looked at all the images. They're inconclusive, and that's what the investigators said at the time. The lorry driver said they seemed to swerve, and that they were travelling quite fast given the wet conditions. There was no evidence that _he_ was at fault. Nothing was found to be amiss with the car. No tampering or faults. So it's just filed as one of those unfortunate accidents."

Plonking herself down and helping herself to a lug from Rhona's glass, Laura picked up one of the pictures. Pulling a revolted face at the evident carnage.

"It'd be a huge risk though....wouldn't it? Grabbing the wheel and ploughing your car into an oncoming vehicle, especially a lorry....I mean.....well, you yourself could be killed....obviously."

"The husband _was_ killed. The wife only injured." 

"But you couldn't _possibly_ know you'd survive. I wouldn't buy it. Can't believe someone would do that on purpose." 

Rhona took another glug of Pinot. 

"No. Nor me really, but this particular woman has staged accidents before apparently....but fires, not car crashes." 

She sat back with a huff. 

"It's a bloody dead end. That's what it is. I'll have to tell the Skip in the morning. We'll have to try another line of enquiry." 

"Skip?" Her friend arched an eyebrow questioningly. 

"Yeah. Nick Crowther, my boss...my Capitan....or rather The Skipper. Better known as Skip." 

Laura gave a scoff. 

"I'm off to bed!" 

oOo

Over a rather rushed coffee, Monaghan sat in his office with DS Crowther. 

After his first sip, the police officer gave a grimace. 

"This coffee is possibly the worst stuff I've ever had the misfortune to sample. How on earth do you survive working here?" 

"I get by. Or go to the nearest Costa's." 

"Look Douglas, I've got to keep this brief, but I promised I'd keep you informed. If the truth be known I'm so bloody busy I actually met my own arse coming out of the station this morning." 

Monaghan smiled. 

"I'm sorry Nick. Really I am.....so what did you find?" 

"I think you might just be on to something."

The Doctor sat forward, leaning on the desk, his face at once eager, and bearing the distinct look of one who was dying to say, 

_'Told you so!'_

"My Constable looked into the CCTV at the Art School. It seems pretty clear that Carol didn't leave the building that day." 

"Shit! Really.....?" The colour drained from his cheeks. "Oh, I almost forgot...." reaching into his inside jacket pocket he produced a printed square of paper. "My car park ticket, for that day. I paid the fee at 12.10, so that's when I'd run to the car after 'Carol' left me." 

"Christ Doug." Taking the ticket he placed it into a plastic evidence bag. "That confirms with the CCTV, Carol is seen to enter the refectory at 12.12, so unless she flew on her broomstick, it can't possibly be Carol you spoke to. Fuck it all! I'm so short of man power, but I'm going to give this one to Rhona....let her investigate further. I'll get her to do some formal interviews with the foster parents and the school staff that your colleagues saw ...(unethically, I might add)..." he paused with a look of admonishment, and received a suitably shamefaced glance of contrition in return. 

"....then we'll see where to go from there. We must tread carefully. It's a fucking minefield, and we've no real proof of anything. We can't go charging in there like Eliot Ness, all guns blazing....and we can't alert the woman that there's a possible problem. No, let her think it's all hunky dory and she's got away with it. She's unlikely to do anything stupid then, or become jittery." 

A huge protracted sigh came from Dr Douglas Monaghan, one of palpable relief. 

"Don't get too excited though....we may be able to pin absolutely nothing on her. If there's a lack of evidence we'll be nowhere. Oh, and watch yourself too.....stay well away from the Flemings....if she has even the slightest notion that you might do something against her, you could well be a target yourself. If we're right and she's got everything she ever wanted, then you are a potential threat to her happiness." 

"Christ! I never thought of that. She threatened me that last day as a matter of fact, when I challenged her. So cold and calculated.  
_'Prove it'_ she practically hissed at me." 

Nick Crowther rose to take his leave. 

"Yeah, well....Mike O'Connor didn't think of it either, and I think it's quite likely she saw to him." 

"I'll steer well clear, don't worry. Thanks Nick."


	7. In Strictest Confidence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Sean Fleming has his first meeting with Mrs Campbell, the counsellor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sean is an extremely important character in this story, and although he is somewhat in the background in the actual show, there are several telling scenes where he is involved. All of which I've drawn on for this tale. 
> 
> He is clever and observant. But he is also a child, and therefore thinks like one. There are nuances which he doesn't understand, or misinterprets. He is afraid to speak out because he doesn't think he'll be believed. He's not even sure he believes himself.  
> Confused and unable to process what he's really feeling. 
> 
> As time passes he will struggle more and more to make sense of it all. 
> 
> *eejit......idiot.

CHAPTER SEVEN.  
IN STRICTEST CONFIDENCE.

The room was decorated in a calming or uplifting way, depending on how you viewed it. 

Colourful artwork, scenes of the countryside around, shots of the City skyline with its church spires, it's towering ochre stone, the hills in the distance. There were also posters; animals, toys, films like Star Wars, Marvel, Superwoman, Shrek, Woody and other cultural icons which the principles considered to be engaging for both young males and females over a wide age range. 

Sean sat down on a squishy primary coloured sofa, tucked his school bag onto his lap and hugged it. 

This was how the therapist found him when she entered. 

He looked quite small for a ten year old. 

Short cropped carroty hair, and dozens of freckles. His eyes wide, taking in everything. Small fingers which gripped his satchel, white at the knuckles. 

"Hello there! Sean isn't it? I'm Pauline, or Mrs Campbell if you prefer. May I call you Sean?" 

The boy nodded as she held out her hand to him, her smile soft but not over done. Sean stared at the hand but made no move to shake it. 

Taking a seat opposite him, perched on the edge, she leaned forwards over her own knees and looked unswervingly into his face. 

"We're going to meet up from time to time Sean, if that's okay. Talk over any problems you might be having, or anything that's troubling you, or anything at all really. It's informal, but I might take a few notes from time to time if you don't mind...." 

"There's nothing." The child interrupted. "I'm okay."

"You can have someone with you if you want.....someone you trust, even your dog if you have one." 

"Don't have any pets." 

"Brother or sister?"

"I don't have anyone."

"What about your Dad?" 

No reaction other than another dismissive shrug. 

"Or your mum?" 

A flash of fear swept across his countenance, eyes momentarily widening a little more. It was there for a mere second until he mastered it. 

"No thanks." 

"That's fine then. We'll just meet up then and talk about things like your school day, or what you did at the weekend. Maybe play some games, or do some activities. Stuff like that." 

The green eyes that gazed back at her seemed so clear that they were like two windows with which to see right inside his head.  
Uneasy to be in this alien situation, unsure as to what was expected of him. As if he'd been asked to perform surgery and had no idea where to begin. 

"Sean, you're not in any trouble....you know that right?"

A diffident shrug of the shoulders. Then....

"Ma teacher said I might get suspended....because I thumped Joe....but he was being an *eejit....he deserved it." 

"I think everyone realises it hasn't been easy for you lately, with everything that's happened. I'm sure you are confused, angry even. Sometimes even adults find it hard to cope with these things, and they need help and someone to talk to too." 

"He was sayin' stuff about my mum. But he don't know nuthin'."

"What did he say?" 

He boy hung his head. Mumbling into his own collar. 

"Don't matter now."

"How has it been since your mum came home from hospital?"

Another shrug.

It was the stillness of him which struck her chiefly. Stiff as a board. Not moving a muscle. Clamped to the settee, tightly clutching his bag.  
It seemed to her that he was desperately trying to convince her that there was nothing to see here.  
A slight defiance. Perhaps a hint of indifference. 

Her experience told her that this was a pretence. Something children were very good at where adults were concerned. That desire to please. To say or do the right thing, or what they considered the grown up required of them.  
What came across to her was a distinct feeling of isolation. Of standing alone and friendless in the middle of some great trauma. 

His eyes darted to and fro. Seeking an escape. It was as if he were caught between bolting for the door, or caving in, spilling everything in a torrent of outpourings like a sinner in the confessional.  
Holding himself tensed and ready for anything. 

"Everything you say within these walls is in the strictest confidence. It can be used where court proceedings take place, but I don't think we need to worry about that." 

"You mean no one will know? Not mum......or even Dad?" 

A sense of hope unlooked for appeared to flash across his small round face. From the depths of sullen despair to a beacon of light in an instant. He was not clever enough nor sufficiently experienced in deceit to be able to hide these expressions. 

"No one. Only you and me." 

"But what if....." 

He hesitated, frowning with the effort, as his brain whirred. Could he tell her? Afraid to say too much or give anything of his inner thoughts away. 

"Sean, it doesn't matter what it is, I'll listen. No one is going to punish you." 

For a moment the boy seemed to consider. As if weighing up the possible outcome of anything he might say, against the importance of actually saying it. 

After some seconds, he appeared to reach a decision. 

"You'd think I'm stupid." He declared eventually, with a resigned sigh. 

"No, Sean......that's not how it works....." She began. 

The spine he'd held rigid until now, seemed to curve, as if he were melting into the sofa. His bottom lip trembled, but he refused to capitulate. Clenching his jaw tight. 

"Can I go now?" He asked plaintively. 

"Of course you can! At any time....I'm not holding you prisoner. You can come and go as you please. But if there's something you want to say to me, you can, okay? It's safe. I want you to know that." 

"I can't...." 

More and more this young boy resembled a caged thing. Dying to be set free. 

Whatever monumental notion he was keeping inside, the magnitude of which may not necessarily be huge, but to a young child could take on gargantuan proportions, it was clearly weighing heavily upon his brow.  
Taking the leap of faith was not an option. At least not yet. 

Perhaps at their next meeting. Or the next. Who knew. Pauline Campbell could be patient. Use her considerable training. Gain his trust.  
Maybe then he would reveal his inner mind to her.  
Until then, there was little she could do. 

"Is someone waiting for you outside?"

"Yeah. My dad." 

...

Opening the door to her consultation room, she stood back and watched as the boy burst forth at the run.  
A tall lean man who was clearly the father, stood up as his approach.  
The child cannoned straight into him, almost knocking him down. 

Arms tight around his middle. Face buried somewhere around his midriff.  
Recovering his balance Gordon, returning the embrace warmly, glanced questioningly towards the therapist, as if to say, 

_'What the hell happened?"_

....before returning his attention to his clinging son. 

Bending at the knee, he held the youngster at arms length, ducking his head low so as to look into his face. 

"Sean! What is it? Are you alright?" 

"I wanna go home now Dad." 

Loosing his grip, the father made to walk forward, but his son wouldn't let go. 

"I just want to speak to the lady, Sean.....is that okay?" 

"Oh, Da, just lets go eh....please?"

Pauline Campbell gave a reassuring smile. 

"It's fine Mr Fleming. It's an awful lot for Sean to cope with. But he's handled it so well, haven't you Sean?" 

The boy looked from therapist to parent and nodded emphatically. 

The counsellor smiled again 

"I'll see you again soon, and it'll be easier next time I'm sure. You'll know what to expect. Okay?" 

More nodding. 

"Come on then son.....let's go. Thanks Mrs um......" 

"Campbell." 

"Campbell. Aye." His sleeve was tugged urgently. "It's alright Sonny Jim! We're going!" 

The two walked away. The man with his hand protectively on the boy's shoulder. The child keeping close.  
As they reached the door, the youngster turned to glance back. 

It was a look, not of triumph, nor of fear or hopelessness. It was one of thankful relief.


	8. Finding Out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Police Constable Rhona Jameson is dispatched to the Big Smoke on a fact finding mission. What she turns up proves to be both disturbing and thought provoking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the information in this chapter comes from the findings of Meghan and Andrew in the actual show.   
> I've enlarged and embellished it to a certain extent and inserted a few nuggets of my own.   
> But the essentials are there. Particularly the school and the foster parents. Both Mountbank and Daleside are mentioned in the show. 
> 
> I've tried to make it as realistic as possible, bearing in mind it was the seventies, and obviously Rhona will have been given the necessary permissions beforehand. 
> 
> Hopefully it provides a background to Helen Reid's true character.

CHAPTER EIGHT.  
FINDING OUT. 

It was some matter of pride to her that her Detective Sergeant, her immediate boss, had faith in her abilities.  
He was an old school copper through and through. Completely honest and straightforward.  
She had ambitions to join CID and become a plainclothes detective. It was something she'd wanted for as long as she could remember.  
This day was a feather in her cap. A lowly PC being sent off to do some digging. 

Rhona Jameson boarded the early London train, tasked with interviewing the people relevant to the Fleming inquiry.  
With so many high profile cases on going at the present time, she was glad that at least something was being done about this one. 

Settling down in her window seat with its table and plug socket, and having procured herself a coffee, she began scanning the file which had been provided for her by Dr Monaghan.  
The results of Meghan and Andrew's own investigative work. 

Appointments had duly been arranged at the Primary School where Helen once worked as a teaching assistant, and at the home of a Mr and Mrs Phillips, who were some time foster carers to the young girl. 

She also planned to visit the various Social Services departments to find out if there were any records at all from either Mountbank, which still existed, albeit in an altered form, and Daleside, which closed many years previously. 

Perhaps a visit to Gordon and Helen's old home address might also be worthwhile, to speak to the neighbours. 

Rhonda always felt like a fish out of water here. London was just so vast and sprawling. The air had a metallic tang to it, which she never noticed at home.  
Every street seemed the same. The people hurried passed without making eye contact.  
An alien world in which she felt like a bumpkin, a provincial hick who's accent made those she spoke to crinkle their noses with incomprehension.

Mrs Matheson, head teacher at the school, was a prim, rather upright woman. Clearly with great number of scholastic problems weighing heavily on her.  
In spite of this she offered Rhona a coffee and they sat down to chat.  
From outside the office a general hubbub of childish voices could be heard. Shrieks and chatter from the playground, running footsteps in the corridor, yells, cries, and laughter followed by a stern admonishment from an adult....after which a hush fell, and the noise died away to a murmur.

"So, Helen Reid...." Rhona began. 

"Yes. As I told your colleagues....." 

Here the policewoman didn't trouble herself to correct the mistake. The fact that Meghan and Andrew had no real authority to speak to anyone at the school was something she decided best glossed over.

"She resigned some months back. But had she not done so, she would have been sacked, or at the very least, suspended. There was an incident where she hit a child. Disciplinary proceedings would probably have taken place."

"But presumably she was DBS checked?" 

"She was." 

"And nothing showed up in her background?"

"Well, we knew she'd been in Mountbank as a teenager, but that was years ago, and whilst the fact may carry a certain stigma, it wouldn't be a reason not to give her a chance. Nothing flagged up in her adult life. Nothing at all." 

"The parents of the child she hit....did they want to bring assault charges? Were the police involved?"

"Well, that's the thing. We were quite prepared for just that scenario. But then she offered to resign. I mean, she was most contrite, devastated in fact. Apologised personally to both the child and his parents. They decided to let the matter drop. Helen left and was told not to apply for further work in schools, or anything similar. The incident went onto police file, but with no further action taken." 

"What was she like as a person Mrs Matheson? I'm trying to build up an idea of the type of character she possessed." 

"Honestly? I didn't like her much. I don't know why. There was just something about her. A couple of the other teaching assistants weren't keen on her either. She did her work okay, don't get me wrong, but on a personal level, she found it hard to fit in somehow. Always apart. Vicious tongue on her too! She could be positively waspish if challenged. It struck me that she must have had to become tough to get through Mountbank unscathed. That place once had a fearsome reputation. She was good with the kids, and always regretted not being able to have any of her own...." 

"She couldn't have children?" 

"That's what she said. Something wrong with her tubes, or ovaries or something...I don't remember exactly...that's why she wanted to work with young children. To fulfil the need....I think. I must say, that the incident with the boy was a one off. Nothing like that had ever happened before. She just lost it one day. I'll admit I was surprised, because she'd never been violent like that up until then. Most of her anger, if there was any, was directed at other staff members, with them she could be a downright bully. She didn't take kindly to being contradicted, especially on matters where she thought she knew best. Sometimes it was like she was the teacher instead of the assistant. She was an odd one to read. Never knew what was going on in her head, you know?" 

"Well, you've been most helpful, Mrs Matheson. If there's anything else you think of, here's my number. Perhaps you could ring me?" 

Stepping out into the sunlight, Rhona felt as if she were beginning to know Helen Reid a little better. 

It seemed there was quite a lot to know. 

oOo

A few stops on the tube later, and she emerged onto the street once more, heading for the home of the Phillips. 

This couple had fostered dozens of children in their time. 

Photos of them adorned the comfortable sitting room. All shapes and sizes, colours and genders. Brothers and sisters, teenagers and toddlers. 

"It's very kind of you both to see me." 

Elderly now, the pair sat side by side on the settee, glancing first at each other, then at their visitor. 

"I realise it's a long time ago. But anything you can tell me will be a help." 

"We felt sorry for her. Didn't we Bob?" His wife's face was melancholy. 

"She was a lost soul. Pushed around from pillar to post. She'd been from foster home to foster home....you know she was adopted?" 

"No, I wasn't aware...." 

"Oh yes! As a baby......" Mrs Phillips sat forward in her chair, dropping her voice, leaning over her own knees conspiratorially. "....didn't work out. They sent her back. The parents split up, went their separate ways. So she was rejected a second time you see....both by her birth mother and by the adoptive couple." 

Rising, her husband went to fetch the tea tray. 

"She'd been to all sorts after that." He added. " Poor mite. They never kept her long. Ended up in Daleside. The Children's Home. Had a tough time there I think. That's where she'd been before she came to us. Funny little thing. Thin as a rake with a shock of red hair. Temper to match too....firey! Tantrums she'd have....Lord! It wasn't her fault. It was her circumstances. She felt shut out and she railed against the injustice of it all." 

His wife chimed in.. 

"The other two told us she had a twin sister....." 

"Yes. Carol." 

"Criminal that is! They should have been kept together. A lot makes sense though....she was always saying things about another person. We just thought it was an imaginary friend, you know, like kids have....but she called her 'the other me'. I remember her coming home crying once.....I told the other two this.....saying her arm hurt. Well, there wasn't a mark on her. 'No!' She said. 'It was the other me.'  
We didn't think it odd at the time. Many of the waifs and strays we've taken in had problems, it goes with the territory. She was no different really. Troubled. Difficult. Square peg, you understand?" 

"I do. Tell me, what happened to her after she left you, do you know?" 

The couple exchanged a worried glance. 

"I'm so sorry to dredge up the past like this. It must be painful. But I really need to know as much about Helen as I can." 

"She went to another family. It wasn't us....it wasn't. It was social services. They decided. This couple were looking to adopt an older child....to be a sister to the one they'd taken in already.....but we heard....well....." she paused, "....it ended badly. A fire they said. No one was hurt.....but the house was gutted. We heard she went to Mountbank after that. Broke our hearts." 

"I see. Do you know when that was?" 

"She'd have been twelve. So '73 I think." 

"Thank you both. So much." Rhona rose to leave. 

"She just wanted love you see." 

A tear sprang to the old lady's eye. 

"She'd never really known it. A proper family. Some stability. That's all, just some love.....and what child doesn't need that, eh?" 

oOo

Over a rather hurried and meagre lunch Rhona reflected. 

Reading through the newspaper article in the file. 

_"Teenager torches family home!"_

So the headline screamed. 

The course of events which effect our lives so profoundly tend to hang on odd unidentified moments. If a childless couple had come forward wanting to adopt twin babies, Carol and Helen might have stayed together.  
Or one of any of a hundred adoptees could have taken on that little red haired girl, lived together happily for years and years, and she'd have grown up in a stable loving home, where she was wanted and loved.  
Even if she had been separated from her sibling. 

Carol had been fortunate, her childhood had been secure, a nurturing home environment where she thrived. 

Small tenuous threads. A road taken, or passed by. 

The right people being there at the right time. 

How many children slipped through the net both then, and now? Because make no mistake, it was still happening.  
Lost and abandoned for whatever reason. Ill treated, or just not treated at all. The trauma colouring their entire lives.  
Bitterness and resentment breeding like so many bacteria in a Petri dish, viewed under the microscope. 

Never learning to form proper relationships. Never being held or comforted when feeling down or hurt.  
Not being told how well you'd done or how good you were.  
Blow after blow until the youngster either caved in beneath it all and was overwhelmed, or got tough. Very tough. A hardened outer shell like an armadillo.  
Nursing their rancour like a maggot in an apple. Slowly rotting from the inside. Fighting back at every opportunity.  
Making those who maltreated them pay.  
Becoming clever and sly. Manipulative and resourceful. 

Biting back like a rabid dog at the first sign of rejection. 

Worse still, becoming so used to that rejection, that it was expected. Planned for. That vengeance exacted without a backward glance. 

What a hateful way to grow up! 

Finishing the last of her plate. Rhona checked her watch. 

She was expected at the Social Services archive in fifteen minutes. 

A deep sigh as she left the table. Already she knew why Helen Reid had turned out the way she had. 

It was predestined from practically the moment of her birth. 

oOo

"There was a fire in the principals office at Mountbank in the late seventies. But some of the paper files are still in the vault here. When an inmate was discharged the paperwork was moved and filed away." 

The head of department strolled the long grey corridors with PC Jameson trailing in her wake. 

"Do they know how the fire started?" 

"Yes. It was arson. I only know because my aunt worked there. She knew Helen Reid as a matter of fact." 

"Really?" A tinge of excitement ran through Rhona. "Perhaps I could talk to her?" 

"I'm afraid she passed away three years ago. Anyway, they caught the person who did it, it was a girl who had been friends with Helen. Well....I say _friend_ , she was much younger, so probably someone she could control. The girl denied it mind you.....the control I mean, she said Helen used to protect her from the other bullies. But my aunt thought it was more that she used a weaker more suggestible girl to complete the task she couldn't. The ultimate revenge. My aunt said she hated the principal, because she had it in for her for some reason. I think she wanted to burn the whole place down, but she failed. It was lucky someone wasn't killed." 

"God! The place sounds awful." 

"It was pretty grim. Here we are. She'll be in here, because she'd been released by then. The fire was just after." 

Drawing a huge cage like shelf towards her. The woman searched diligently. 

"Reid. There you go. Help yourself."

Taking the tatty sheaf of papers the policewoman retired to a corner to peruse. 

And what sorry reading the dossier made. 

A catalogue of disasters. One after the other. 

On admission Helen was described as 'aggressive.' Her initial assessment found her to be 'mildly delusional' and suffering from 'behavioural disorder'.  
A list of punishments or 'corrections' as long as your arm.  
The content included a brief résumé of her earliest time both before and at 'Daleside' children's home as a youngster. Where she was found to be quiet, withdrawn and painfully shy. Having come straight from her failed adoptive family. It must have been profoundly disturbing, to be ripped from all she'd ever known and sent to this place. 

Rhona Jameson had never read such a sad tale. 

Various foster homes followed. Attempts to settle her. Each ending in failure. 

Three incidences of minor conflagrations. 

Then her time with the Phillips's. During which she seemed to improve dramatically. 

Social workers at the time took her away, placing her with another prospective adoptive family. When this went wrong it seemed to push her over the edge. The final straw.  
It was their home she torched. Reducing it to ashes. 

From there her descent into a vengeful, disaffected teenager really took shape. Catching hold as surely as the flames she seemed so happy to resort to when things went pear shaped.  
Leaving Mountbank at the age of sixteen, she was sent into a halfway house, and it was here where she began the process of reinventing herself. Or so it appeared. Dropping off the radar. 

Closing the file, the young woman swigged the last dregs of her tea and gathered her belongings together. 

Her last port of call before heading back to Scotland would be the former home address of Helen Reid and her, now dead, husband Gordon.  
She doubted there would be much to be gleaned, but she considered the trip worth making, intending to speak to any neighbours who might be at home. 

Arriving at the rather unprepossessing semi the address of which the Police data base had furnished her, she could see a _'SOLD'_ sign, leaning precariously where it had been planted in the flower bed in the front garden. 

"Oh crap!"

Taking her mobile, she rang the number on the board. 

Unable to give her information over the phone, Rhona headed for the office which was half a mile away.  
There she spoke to the Estate Agent. 

From the somewhat officious branch manageress she learned that the house had been put on the market directly after the death of Helen's husband.  
It sold quickly, as desirable properties in this area tended to.  
To her knowledge Mrs Reid was moving to live with her sister in Scotland. The property was immediately cleared and most of the furniture sold off, the rest given to charity or disposed of. 

This surprised even PC Jameson. 

To completely cast off everything that had been a part of your marriage and your life with your partner? Not keep a single memento, photo, or ornament? Nothing of sentimental value whatever?  
Who does such a thing? 

She was informed that Mrs Reid instructed a firm of house clearers to do the job. The house sale was now complete. Contracts exchanged and the new owners had taken possession of the dwelling.  
Fortunately the agent was able to give her the address of the acting solicitor. 

Rhona left the office reeling. 

Had Helen even returned to London after the accident which killed her husband? She had taken nothing from their marital home except the suitcases she had with her when the pair went to stay with the Flemings. 

She soon found the firm of solicitors. 

Brass plaque on the brickwork. 

_"Matthews, Green and Turlington."_

It was Mr Matthews who ushered her into his inner sanctum. 

"Thank you for seeing me at such short notice." 

"Do take a seat Miss Jameson....I understand you wish to discuss Helen Reid." 

"Well, yes. I'm led to believe you handled her affairs? Including the sale of the house?"

"You believe correctly." 

Grey and slightly balding, Mr Matthews seemed as one in complete accord with his allotted career.  
Probably approaching sixty. Portly around the middle. A pinstripe suit. His nose rather bulbous and bearing witness to perhaps one too many glasses of port after luncheon.  
He couldn't really be anything else. 

"Everything is on computer now of course, but I've printed off the relevant paperwork. It includes the instructions I received to act on Mrs Reid's behalf. The sale of her house, and her last Will and Testament." 

The young PC stopped in her tracks. 

"You have her Will?" 

"Why yes. She visited just once after the death of her husband, when she'd recovered from her injuries. We sat down and went over her husband's Will. He left everything to her. She then commissioned one of her own. She pointed out, _'there is nothing certain in this life, Mr M and we must be sure to make adequate provision.'_  
Here it is...." 

He handed over a carefully written document, signed and witnessed at the bottom in a flowing hand. 

"This is the original. But you can take a copy. At present it's going through probate, but it's quite straightforward. I don't anticipate any problems. I've already contacted the sibling in Scotland. Mrs Reid leaves everything to her surviving sister, Carol."


	9. Rebellion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol is gradually working on Gordon, bringing him round to her way of thinking. However, when he rebels, she backs off and gives him what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More here of the dynamic between the main characters of Carol and Gordon. 
> 
> She's finding Sean a little harder work than she anticipated, but she's sure she can win him round in the end.  
> Gordon is a little different. However, when he too rebels, she realises she's pushed too far and backs off, letting him have his own way. 
> 
> I realise that my vision of this relationship may not meet with those of others. But I felt very strongly that for Gordon to truely believe in his 'wife', she had to have some hold over him. Something that would persuade him utterly. Or something he wanted so much it wouldn't matter which sister she was. Otherwise they would just be like 'before' and it wouldn't work.

CHAPTER NINE.  
REBELLION.

The television screen flickered as Gordon stared at it, unseeing. 

His mind a whirlpool of thoughts. 

They ranged between anxiety for his son, concerns about his wife, and blatant sexual desire. 

He could hear them both now, upstairs. Sean suddenly considered himself too old to be read to. It was something Carol had always done, but now he seemed to be rebelling.  
Listening, head cocked to one side, the protestations audible, increasingly rising in volume. 

"Mum, no! I'm tired. I want to go to sleep...." 

Reminding himself for the umpteenth time that on discharge from hospital, the doctor warned him that a trauma such as this could profoundly affect a person. In fact he'd recommended bereavement counselling for Carol, but she'd refused. 

_"All I need is time....."_

She spent a great deal of that time on the beach. Just standing there, or sitting on a log. Staring across the restless water. 

When she wasn't doing that, she was clinging to him, which invariably turned to lustful kissing.  
It seemed they couldn't keep their hands off each other.  
Much like when they first met. 

Carol seemed to know how to make his blood pulse hot in his veins. Know that this was what he wanted. What he'd missed. 

Teasing, coquettish, steamy.

Every time he'd cave in, because he couldn't help himself.

...

Earlier that very afternoon, while Sean was at school, she'd manoeuvred him into bed, with promises of delight. 

Allowing himself to be led by the hand. Weak at the knees. Knowingly walking towards his own most intimate and secret fantasies.

"I'll make it good for you. Do you trust me...are you mine Gordon?" 

Nodding. 

"I'm yours." 

Dumb with need. 

Stripped him. Then herself. Told him to lie still. Not that he needed to be told. Willingly acquiescing. 

Almost purring with satisfaction, as a cat might toy with a mouse, she'd wiled away the best part of an hour with some ice cubes. 

Gordon closed his eyes at the vivid memory. 

Such sensations!

The sharp coldness of the ice. Freezing water trickling down his torso as it melted against the warmth of his skin. Making him suck in tightly on each inhale.  
Throat. Chest. Stomach. Slowly sliding down and down. 

Holding his breath, head thrown back, Adam's apple exposed, mouth open in a silent cry. 

If he moved his hips she would admonish him, then punish, holding the cube against his nipple until the pain bit. 

It was sweet agony. Panting for air. Stomach lifting and falling as he fought to control himself. 

Listening to her soft voice as she spoke to him. 

"Lie still Gordon. Close your eyes. Feel it. Lose yourself......keep that pelvis on the bed....or else...did I see a twitch there? _Naughty!_ " 

Hard as iron. His overwhelming instinct to thrust upwards. Straining every sinew. 

Then came the next frozen touch. Right against his erection. Up and down. 

Making him cry out. Circling him now, rivulets of moisture coursing down his swollen scrotum, between his thighs.  
Just as the numbness seemed to spread across the delicate skin there, it was replaced by a sudden feeling of warmth.

Her mouth. 

Stark contrast between hot and cold. Sending his heart rate soaring. 

A stream of whimpers came from him, waves of pleasure. He wanted to scream. But more, he wanted to lift himself to enhance the sensual experience.  
His wife was having none of it, her hands held him down, firmly. Fingers digging into the flesh of his haunches. 

"Carol....." He whispered between desperate breaths, "......don't.....please.....I can't hold it....." 

Releasing him for a moment, she gazed up at him. Frowning. Such power. Eyes blazing and widely dilated.  
Her enjoyment of his suffering almost as potent as his own. 

"Oh, I don't think so...." She cooed languidly.

Then, wrapping her fingers right around his balls, she pulled them down and away from his body with a rapid but not harsh tug.  
Gordon felt as though he were locked in a vice. It was uncomfortable but not excruciating, a strange feeling he'd never encountered before.  
Then he realised the implication.

He couldn't ejaculate. 

_"No......!"_

The desire to weep surging through him, welling behind the eyes. 

She was smiling at him now. All the while holding him at her mercy. 

"You need a little more I think...." Her voice like velvet, followed by the bitter sting of the ice cube. 

Kissing the tip of him tenderly before resuming her gentle fellation. 

"Oh God......" he gasped. " .....so close.....but I can't......" 

Being held on the brink. Teetering there. As if dangling over a cliff edge on a thin piece of rope.  
Feeling as if a branding iron were being held against him, burning now, wet and hot and exquisite all at the same time. 

He began to moan helplessly. Whining and begging. 

Then, just as quickly as it began, it was over. 

He was abandoned. The loss was terrible. 

Snapping open his eyes, he found her standing over him, hands on hips. 

"No more." She stated, with a stern countenance. " Enough playtime. You're having too much fun." 

"But......" 

His confusion was profound. Looking down his naked body, he was shocked at the sight. Erection curving out and away from his stomach, throbbing, a string of saliva suspended from it.  
His torso wet from the melted ice, mingled with his own sweat.  
Ball sack stretched and tender. Breathing hard as if he'd run a marathon. 

"You're enjoying it too much.....that bit of Helen.....but I'm not her, I'm Carol......you never wanted me to do these things before......" 

Gordon made his decision instantly. Scrambling from the bed, he fell to his knees at her feet. Wrapping his arms around the tops of her legs. 

Hauling her close. Kissing her at the apex of her thighs. His head buried there. 

Words came as a flurry of needy whispers as he kissed her more deeply, letting his tongue dart out. 

"No.....Carol.....I love you..... _you_.....not her.....I want you.....so much......you're everything....please....please don't be angry with me.....it's different.... _you're_ different....it's difficult for me....I like it......I love it, God help me....Carol......please.....I'll do anything......" 

Her hand was in his hair. Petting. Pressing him closer. He could hear her breath beginning to catch, her legs buckling. 

"Do it....." she hissed. 

His fingers were there, parting her soft skin, eyes shut tight. Lost in the heady scent of her. Lapping like a thirsty dog. Her release, when it came, was almost silent. 

Once again she had him where she wanted him. There was that superior smile again. 

Looking up at her now, his chin wet. Eyes so eager and adoring. 

"That was nice Gordon." She consented. 

Relief, that's what she saw in his face. He'd pleased her, so pathetically grateful when she'd praised him. 

Bending, cupping his cheeks, she let her lips brush his, his head craning towards her for more. 

"I'm going to shower now." 

"But....I....." 

Stepping back, smiling down at him, as he glanced longingly down at himself. Cock still standing proudly upright, untouched, unsatisfied. 

Automatically he made to stroke himself, he couldn't help it. 

"I don't think so Gordon." Batting his hands away. "Not today.....tomorrow perhaps..."  
She turned to walk away. "....and no getting any ideas about finishing yourself off.....edging is good for you....you'll experience twice the pay off next time..." 

....

Gordon opened his eyes with a start, the tv programme had ended and another begun, while he'd been lost in reverie. 

He still burned. 

Hours later. Just his mere thoughts making him hard out of his mind again. 

She was standing over him, her eyes were soft and knowing. 

"You okay darling?" 

"I must have dropped off." 

"Sean's settled now.....drink?" 

Gordon rose and followed her to the kitchen. 

She poured two glasses of red. Handing one to her husband. 

Sipping, then taking a larger gulp, he held her gaze steadfastly. 

"I'm worried about Sean." 

It wasn't what she'd expected him to say, and for a moment it threw her. 

"Why? He's just missing his own bedroom, his own stuff, he'll be fine when we get back to a normal routine." 

Gordon shook his head, a frown creasing his brow. 

"You didn't see him when he came out of that counselling session. I think he needs more of our attention. Particularly mine at the moment. I thought I might take him swimming tomorrow. A bit of father, son time...." 

For a second the eyes flashed, but it was mastered instantly. Raising her eyebrows into two perfect arches.

"Oh, but sweetheart, I thought we had plans for tomorrow?" Sliding her free hand along the counter towards him, she moved in closer. Her lips millimetres from his.  
He was looking at her from beneath heavy lids, his lovely eyes so clear and cyan blue. 

"Yes, but I think....." he stammered. 

Carol's hand strayed to his crotch. Fondling him through his jeans. Of course he was already bulging there from his thoughts only moments before. 

"You can take him another time....." Her voice was silky, tender, and she bought her mouth to his in the gentlest of kisses. 

It was irresistible, it was like alchemy. Rage and fire, softness and passion, all mixed together to cause a chemical reaction. 

He began to weaken, protesting at the same time, in spite of being almost muted by her questing lips. 

"But Carol....he's just a kid, he doesn't understand it all......" 

He could feel his belt being unfastened. 

"He needs the support, the love....." 

His fly being lowered. 

"He needs to know how much we love him...."

A hand insinuating itself inside his trousers, palming his hardness. 

Mind reeling. Whiteout. Pushing his words and thoughts aside. Replacing them with others.

 _'Oh God in Heaven! He could just take her, here and now.....on the kitchen work top.....he could lift her up onto it, rip open her blouse, spread her legs and pound into her until he was sated......closing in on that high he'd been so cruelly denied earlier in the day, the release which had haunted his thoughts ever since....'_

Suddenly there was a snap somewhere in his fuddled brain. A moment of clarity. 

Something stronger than lust. 

Pulling back, he held her away from him, clasping her forearm and levering it from where her hand massaged his penis wantonly. 

"Carol! Stop, please.....for God's sake......sometimes there's more to it all than just sex....." 

The answering pitch was, at first angry. Very angry indeed. 

_"What?"_

But when she saw he meant it, her gaze first softened and then crumpled. 

She was losing him, he was rebelling. It was what she feared. Too much too soon. She'd gone too far.

All at once she dissolved into tears. 

" I'm sorry Gordon. I thought it was what you wanted. I thought you liked it. I was only trying to please you, to get us back where we were before, to have that bond again, that closeness. I always seem to read the signs wrong....." 

The tears turned to sobs, Gordon, confused again, but racked with guilt for rebuffing her, drew her in, holding her close as she melted into his shirt. 

"I'm so sorry.....so sorry." She blurted, inconsolable.

"Carol! Darling! Don't. Please." A warm hand was rubbing her back. His tone placatory. Little pecks against her hair. "Listen, it's been a long day. You're not back to full strength yet by a long way, either physically or emotionally......let's lock up, go to bed early, hmmm?" 

Breaking from him, she looked into his face, eyes red rimmed and swollen. 

A sorrowful nod was her only reply. Biting her bottom lip. 

Following him upstairs like a scolded child. Still weeping. 

Once beneath the covers she nestled against his chest like a limpet. More sniffling. 

"Hold me Gordon." She pleaded. "Tell me you love me." 

An exasperated tutting sound answered her. 

"You _know_ I love you." His fingers were stroking her hair. " The swim was only an idea.....you can come too if you want. I know you used to love swimming.....it doesn't have to be just Sean and me, we can all go." 

For a brief moment the sobs stopped dead, as if switched off. Then, her torso relaxed against his, one hand resting on his sternum.

"No. It's alright. You should go. Have fun together. He'll love it." 

"I know how hard it's been for you sweetheart, I know you're grieving for Helen and you feel her loss keenly. But we mustn't shut out our son, become too wrapped up in the process of rediscovering our own love. He's just a child. He needs us." 

Snuggling closer, she sniffed again. 

"I know, Gordon, but I need you too. I'm feeling lost, I feel like a half of me has been ripped away.....you said you liked it...what we were doing, it was bringing us closer together.....you said you enjoyed it." 

Gordon let out a sigh. 

"I _do_ Carol.....I really do. So, so much....you've no idea....but sometimes, well, maybe it's a bit too intense. Too all encompassing. It makes me crazy. I forget everything else. And I mustn't. You understand?" 

Oh, she understood! Only too well. She had lost that modicum of control she'd so carefully built and she must regain it at all costs.  
This situation must not be allowed to escalate. 

Propping herself on one elbow, she caressed him tenderly. 

"Make love to me Gordon." She said, softly. " No games. Just you, inside me, making love." 

His eyes opened sharply. Staring up at her in disbelief. 

"Really?" 

She smiled, nodding. 

"Really." She simpered. 

"You're sure? I mean, you said tomorrow, you said I had to wait.....?" 

Her laugh was flirtatious and coy. 

"Oh never mind all that! Just fuck me!" She whispered seductively, moving onto her back, spreading her legs wide and pulling him over her. 

Only too eager to comply, her husband was soon thrusting and grunting, his weight pressing her into the mattress. 

Carol lay, inert, allowing him complete unfettered access. Her eyes open, her mouth ground tightly shut, taking what he gave her in silence, until he peaked spectacularly with a loud cry, before rolling away, collapsing beside her gasping for breath. 

"How was that for you?" She enquired, smoothing a hand over his brow. "Good?"

"I love you Carol. I needed that so badly.....ever since earlier......when you said tomorrow I thought I was going to die." 

Her hand continued stroking. 

"Oh my darling. You don't _have_ to do as you're told! But I thought it's what you liked....wanting me to have that sway over you. Relinquishing your control to me, I thought it turned you on?" 

"God! I do.... _it does_....it's mind blowing. Knowing I have to wait, it drives me insane. But in a good way. Messes with my head, till it's all I can think about." 

Carol chuckled. 

"Imagine how you'd feel after a week! Or a whole month....." 

Gordon shivered, swallowing heavily. 

"Oh Jesus." He croaked. 

'Yes.' She thought. Grinning to herself. 'Give him a little free rein. Before retracting his leash and bringing him to heel again.  
Let him think he's gained the upper hand. Just this once. This is one game he's never going to win.'

She knew him better than he knew himself.


	10. Murder Most Foul.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Crowther is meeting up with Douglas Monaghan in the city for a well earned pint.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The information on Douglas wife Alice, comes from the show. She's obviously passed away some time previously, having been together for more than eight years. Carol Fleming met Monaghan through her.
> 
> SOCO = Scenes Of Crime Officers.

CHAPTER TEN.  
MURDER MOST FOUL. 

The bar was heaving. A fuzzy hubbub of noise, voices, laughter and strains of Aztec Camera playing in the background. 

Well, at least the music was decent. 

Nick Crowther carefully threaded his way through the throng, two very full pints in his hands, trying his best not to slop them as he rounded the tables. There, Douglas Monaghan patiently awaited him.  
Still pink in the face from the chill air outside. 

Another cold blast came in at that moment as someone entered through the swing door. Followed by the scent of cigarette smoke from the kerb, where a knot of people were standing huddled together puffing away.  
The social lepers, who still clung to their vice in spite of now being pariahs, shunned by polite society and banished to the street.

"Busy tonight!" He commented pointlessly, waving a hand in the general direction of the mob. 

"Aye!" Taking his seat, Nick held up his glass. "Cheers!" 

That first sip. Hitting the spot after a long and difficult day. The police officer stopped a moment, letting the bubbles fizz on his tongue and the beer slide down his throat.  
He seemed to visibly relax, like a balloon which has the air slowly released from it. 

"Hahhhh! " He murmured, smacking his lips and savouring the flavour. "Fuck! That's good!" 

"So....to what do I owe the pleasure?" Monaghan enquired, twisting the beer glass round and round between his fingers. 

Crowther watched him, mesmerised. 

"You gonna drink that, or play with it?" He demanded. 

Smiling, then taking a long draught, his friend looked back defiantly. 

"Thought you might wanna know.....the fruits of Rhona's labour.....her trip to London, better to meet here than in the office. For your eyes only mind."

The doctor sat forward in his seat slightly, craning his neck so as to catch the words over the din. He resembled a curious heron, leaning over a pond full of fat fish. Eyes sharp and interested, brows raised as if waiting for an exciting exposé as the detective continued. 

"She did good work that lass. Uncovered a ton of stuff." Taking out a folder, he slid it across the sticky tabletop. "It's all in there." 

"Of course...." he proceeded, taking another glug through the froth. ".....none of it is of much use. There's fuck all evidence there. Not a thing to stand up in a court of law. But it's interesting background.....did you know, for instance, that Helen made a will shortly before her 'death', leaving everything to her sister?" 

Monaghan's brow creased into a frown. 

"Christ. Did she though?" He expostulated with a puff. 

"It makes sorry reading, I'll admit. Rhona agrees. The girl was seriously fucked up." The policeman added, with a sad shake of the head. 

"Yes." Douglas nodded thoughtfully. "I think that much was evident. Not that I think it was all her own fault necessarily, but, well.....it makes you wonder......" 

Donning his spectacles he opened the dossier.

".....just how much planning went into this......"

As he spoke, slowly, he flicked through the articles, turning over each page, scanning briefly. A series of expressions passing across his face as he speed read the words, eyes darting over each line. Surprise, sorrow, horror, all sweeping over him in quick succession. 

"Good Lord!"

Finishing his rapid perusal, he snapped the file shut and took a long lug at his pint, swallow after swallow as if needing to cleanse himself in some way. 

"So what's next?" He enquired, wiping his wet lips with the back of a hand. 

"Well. We've had no joy whatever on the O'Connor murder so far, so we're going to put out a public appeal. See if it brings anything or anyone out of the woodwork. I'm not giving up on this one, Douglas. The O'Connor family, they're a great bunch, and this was their son, brother, uncle. A young man with a great deal of promise as an artist. Snuffed out without a by your leave. I'm not having it! Not on my patch...I've got a killer out there on the loose, and I'm gonna bloody get her....or him. Somehow." 

The pair remained silent, both lost in their own thoughts. Swigging their drinks periodically, and replacing the glass on the beermat each time. Oblivious to the crowd all around them.  
After a short while, only the dregs remained. 

Douglas Monaghan seemed to snap out of his despond. 

"Another?" He asked, rising, picking up the empties. 

"No mate. I'm away home to the missus.....steak and kidney tonight....wouldn't miss that!" 

He was met with a smile. 

"I'm glad." He responded with genuine warmth. 

"Only thing that keeps me sane in the fucking job." Came the reply. " Ma kids, the wife....you know?" 

"Oh yes. I know well enough." 

Detecting a hint of melancholy, Crowther looked up sharply, then realised the insensitivity of his words. 

"Fuck....Douglas, I'm sorry mate. Didn't mean to rub your nose in it. I wasn't thinking." 

Another smile and a hand on his arm. The expression soft and kindly. 

"It's fine." And he meant it. "Alice may be gone but it doesn't mean no one else can have happiness. She was my light and my life for almost ten years, but that doesn't make me bitter for everyone else who has what I haven't. Never think that." 

"Fucking rotten. That's what it is. Unfair. Bloody cancer." 

"Aye. Well, it is what it is. Perhaps one day I'll meet someone. But I don't hold out much hope." He chuckled. "Can't see anyone wanted to date an old fool who chases ghosts for a living." 

Nick stood up, pushing back his chair. 

"I think the science of psychology and para-psychology is a bit more than that.....you're not one of the fucking Ghostbusters!" 

The pair laughed. 

"Well, that's me away. I'll catch up with you when I've more news Dougie." 

oOo

 _".....Glasgow City police are appealing for witnesses to a brutal murder on just off Renfrew Street sometime after 11 pm on the night of the 4th......."_

An obviously scanned photo flashed onto the screen. 

_"Michael Patrick O'Connor, aged 23, was a student at the Glasgow School of Art....."_

The camera cut to a uniformed constable and Nick Crowther, who was the narrator of the piece. 

_"......we would urge anyone who has any information, however small or insignificant it may seem, to please come forward to speak to our team of officers. Any information will be in the strictest confidence. My name is Detective Sergeant Nicholas Crowther, I am heading this investigation and would welcome any new leads to help catch this callous killer before he or she strikes again......the number to call is......"_

 

oOo

Before the bulletin ended, Carol reached for the remote and switched off the TV. Their son unfurled his legs from the couch and stomped upstairs to his bedroom. 

"I hope they catch whoever it was." Gordon remarked, as she slumped back into the cushions. 

His wife resumed her comfortable position beneath his outstretched arm. Head on his chest, hand resting gently against his shirt. 

She'd been particularly restrained and clingy today. Quiet and reserved. Her voice, gentle when she answered him, holding that soft Highland brogue which he'd always loved so much.  
Snuggling into him, she closed her eyes and gave a sigh. 

"The sooner they close the case the better." She murmured. "Draw a line underneath it. Get it solved....or give up." 

A tender kiss was placed on the top of her head, his grip tightening slightly. 

"Nothing for us to worry about anyway." 

Pulling away, raising herself, she scanned the room. 

"Where's Sean gone?" 

"He disappeared upstairs I think." 

"Honestly! That boy! He's become so secretive lately. Always creeping about, you never know what's in his head from one moment to the next." 

Carol felt the warm arm withdraw from her shoulder, the body leaning away. 

"Why do you say that?" There was a deep frown painted across the brow, a hint of confusion, but slight annoyance too, she knew she'd said the wrong thing. 

"Oh I don't know! I'm just so worried he's not himself. As he used to be, I mean. He would always come to me, tell me stuff, but not lately. It's like he's withdrawing into his own world.....if it carries on I think we should take him to a doctor....perhaps the counselling is not enough." 

A distinct puff of disagreement. 

"A shrink you mean? No way, love. It's too soon. I've not noticed any such change in him....other than perhaps he's quieter. He doesn't want to burden you, knowing you're grieving. That's all it is. What he needs is time, and lots and lots of love and support from us. I'll not subject him to doctors just yet. The last thing he needs right now is a file and a label." 

Carol melted into his side again with a conciliatory purr. 

"Whatever you think darling. I'm sure you're right." 

Her hand strayed to his inner thigh.

oOo

DS Crowther hated visiting the Mortuary. 

It was the smell. 

That disinfectant, antiseptic aroma which, mixed with formaldehyde, and other, unmentionable horrors, assaulted the nostrils. 

There was also the mournful rows of heavy steel doors, reminiscent of a bank vault. Behind each one lay the mortal remains of some poor unfortunate soul. 

The pathologist was a jovial fellow. Well, he supposed he had to be with a job like that. His assistant was female, also a cheery lass, but together they always reminded him of a modern day version of Burke and Hare, somewhat ghoulish, he found it all most unsettling. 

"Wotcha Nick! What are you doing here? I sent my report on O'Connor to you....it should have been on your desk long ago." 

"Hello John. No, that's not why I'm here......it's the Fleming lass I'm interested in." 

A grimace followed by a shake of the head was the only reply. 

"What? _Is there nothing?_ Nothing at all?" It was hard for the officer to keep the disappointment from his voice. 

"On the contrary. There's plenty. But I'm taking my time with this one Nick. Plus, you keep bringing me more bodies! A stabbing, an incinerated corpse, what next? You're doubling my workload." 

Crowther was given a good natured slap on the back with a blue plastic gloved hand. 

"I'm actually surprised the sister hasn't been clamouring for the return of the body. Wanting to hold the funeral, you know." 

"Well, not until I'm completely satisfied with my examination she's not! I've got to make quite sure I don't miss anything......and if she's down for cremation, I want to be completely satisfied before she leaves this lab." 

"Thought she was already fucking cremated." The officer shot back with a barely disguised tone of vexation. 

"Well, that's true enough. But my preliminary findings are not entirely without result." 

"Really?" Interest piqued, Crowther was suddenly like a eager terrier who smells a rat. 

"I'll show you." 

The metallic clang of the locking handle as the chamber was opened sounded like a death knell. Sliding the trolley out of the refrigerated compartment on its squeaky runners set Nick's teeth on edge. The body, covered with a crisp white sheet, lay mercifully hidden from view as it was wheeled into the examination suite. 

Now, DS Nicholas Crowther prided himself on the strength of his stomach. 

He'd seen dead bodies many times before.  
He'd seen partially decomposed maggoty corpses, he'd seen poor buggers newly deceased showing the pain wracked features fresh from heart attacks or massive strokes.  
He seen cadavers pulled from the Clyde which would make even the most hardened copper heave. 

But this. 

This was something else. 

Worst of all was the all pervading smell of.....barbecue. 

Almost like a burger or a piece of steak. 

That and the twisted contortion of the limbs, a macabre contraction as they were drawn in towards the body.  
Hair singed away. Mouth open and blackened as if in a silent scream. 

It was truely, truely horrible. 

"Christ!" He murmured, averting his eyes, hardly able to keep his gaze fixed. 

"I know. Gruesome isn't it?" John replied. "But in spite of the condition of the body there are one or two interesting points to note." 

"Such as....?" Crowther turned his back. Afraid that his breakfast might make an unscheduled reappearance if he didn't. 

"Well, there's been a blunt trauma to the head. It's visible in spite of the burning. So she was either hit or she fell onto some furniture or hard object before she died." 

Glancing back at the carcass briefly, Nick could see that there was a definite dent to the side of the left brow. Unmistakable. The skin here resembled crispy duck, although sadly, it didn't smell like it. 

"Now, normally...." the doctor continued, ".....the fingers curl up as the fire's heat intensifies, thus preserving the fingerprints....." 

A momentary beacon of hope leapt in the detective's breast. 

".....but sadly, that's not the case here....." 

That light was instantly snuffed out. 

"......however, the palms are still relatively untouched. Protected you see as the digits balled into a fist. At least enough for the skin to be partially intact." 

Bending over the grizzled hand, together they observed several striations. 

"Cuts?" Crowther ventured, placing his fingers over his own mouth and nose. 

"Indeed. Defence wounds. If I had to guess I'd say she was fending off a knife attack shortly before her death. Some are deep too. I'd say it was pretty frenzied." 

"Bloody hell!" Beads of sweat gathered on the policeman's brow, as he turned away again, retching. 

"I hope you're not going to pass out on me, you'd better sit down." A strong arm was threaded through his own, the assistant rushing to fetch cool drink from the nearby dispenser. 

Thrust onto a chair, head between his knees, Nick took several deep breaths followed by a glug of water. 

"I'm alright!" He admonished, crossly, batting the helping hands away. "No need to fuss. So this definitely isn't some accident....she was murdered you think, or attempted at least......the fire set to cover the tracks?"

"Couldn't possibly say till the SOCO are done at the house. There's probably more. But it'll take time.  
I need to minutely examine the remains of the clothing, I'm going to take a closer look into the dental records too, we relied heavily on those to identify the woman, and which, under the circumstances, I consider need some extra scrutiny......and then I've yet to examine the internal organs.....I'm not stinting on this one Nick.....because something here stinks, and it's not just the corpse."


	11. Revelations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean is now receiving regular counselling sessions. He is almost lulled into letting something slip.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of this chapter is very erotically charged. The intensity is part of establishing the nature of the relationship between Gordon and 'Carol'.  
> It might make uncomfortable reading depending on your view!

CHAPTER ELEVEN.  
REVELATIONS.

Pauline Campbell sat across from the formica topped desk in the counselling suite, closely observing the young boy seated opposite. 

He was engrossed in drawing and colouring. His concentration intense. Tongue darting out from time to time as he worked. 

She had asked the child what he would best like to do during their sessions, and this was his immediate choice. Without hesitation. 

"My dad's a graphic artist. It's what he does. It's why he works from home. I love his work. I love sketching and painting, colouring and drawing....." then a sad look came over him suddenly. ".....I expect all my stuff is gone now, it was up in my bedroom......maybe there's a few left in the sh......" he stopped abruptly and glanced down, his head drooping as if in shame, before continuing to crayon furiously. 

"That's wonderful Sean. It's a great way to express yourself....I wish I was artistic! But I can't draw for toffees."

The boy shrugged. 

"I've always been able to do it, I just can." He replied humbly, almost as if he were not particularly proud of himself, or thought of himself as talented in any way. 

"You must get it from your dad, an inherited gift. It's amazing, it's built into your DNA, a creative streak. Have you ever considered it as a career when you're older?" 

Another diffident shrug. 

"Dunno. 'Spose." 

The counsellor changed tack, moving on, engaging the youngster in conversation once she'd found a jumping off point.

"How have things been this past week? At school? At home?" 

Sean laid down his pencil and looked thoughtful. 

"School's been okay, my mate Angus invited me to his a few times, I like going there. Also, Joe came over at break time Tuesday and said he was sorry, he hadn't meant anything by what he said. We made up." 

"You never _did_ tell me what he said?" 

Picking up a different coloured pencil, he shot a brief look in her direction.  
The eyes that glanced up at her were the greenest she'd ever seen. Clear and intelligent. Bright as two pieces of jade, sitting there in his head. Two windows on the world. A world which had recently been turned side down. 

"It was about mum....." he eventually replied, with great reluctance. "....but like I said, he don't know nothin'"

"Well, it must have been something pretty awful, if it was bad enough for you to punch him in the mouth like that?"

Sean's gaze seemed to mist up. Swimming like a clear pool before spilling over. He tried to blink the oncoming tears away. Running a hand beneath his nose and sniffing. 

"He said people had been talking in the village shop. The lady behind the counter in the post office....she's Joe's nan......." 

A drop of salty wetness fell, hitting his picture, a large round blot, the blues and reds melting into each other and turning into a hazy purple. 

Her hand was placed gently over his. A slight squeeze of encouragement, but he couldn't look at her. 

"Go on." She whispered. 

"Rumours going round. It's a small place you see. Joe's nan said my mum was rude to her. That she'd changed. Wasn't the nice person she'd been before. She said everyone who came in the shop said the same. Said they felt sorry for me and dad.....he's an eejit....they all are.....mean and unkind." 

It was an upwelling of emotion. Raw and real. Both small fists clasped tight. Knuckles white, until the crayon held in the left snapped in two. His freckled face twisted with the effort not to cry.  
Even now, after all these days, she could see a fiery anger there. Hot tears. Clenched teeth, breath sucking in and out as he relived the moment. Sorrow, yes, but also a festering, brewing, simmering rage. 

"It's because they don't understand Sean. When someone has been through a trauma like your family has, only you, who are closest to it can really know what it feels like.  
For others it's just speculation and surmise. So they gossip amongst themselves, ignorant of the true facts, filling in the blanks with silly nonsense." 

Breathing short and fast. Seething. 

_"But they're right!"_ The outburst, when it came, was sudden. Explosive. Spittle flying from his mouth.  
"That's why I was so radged .....bloody, _bloody_ stupid bampot.......standing there.....tauntin', telling me what everyone was saying behind our backs.....they should bloody well leave us alone...... _I KNOW!_ I know you see.....it was the shoelaces gave her aw........"

The child stopped suddenly. Mid flow. Cheeks blanching as the colour drained from them. It was as if he'd been shot, the bullet lodged in the centre of his forehead. Clamping his mouth tight shut like a trapdoor. This green eyes widening in horror.  
Terror stricken. 

Never, in all her experience, had Pauline Campbell witnessed such a thing. 

He was staring at her. Filled with doubt and mistrust. Astonished at his own unguarded imprudence. Slumping back in the chair, seemingly incredulous. 

_How had she done that?_ How had she coerced him into almost giving himself away? 

Looking across at her impassive, kind face. Registering only concern and interest. Focussed entirely upon him. 

There! An adult, a professional, infinitely more clever than he, luring him into an indiscretion, and now he'd said too much. 

Swallowing thickly. Pushing down the bolus of fury which clawed at his throat. Quelling his sobs. His glare fixed on hers like a laserbeam, almost challenging her not to ask him more.  
Trembling defiance in his frozen stare. 

An adult might well have managed to make light of the situation, even turn it to his own advantage, but Sean was a child. A ten year old boy. He possessed neither the skill nor the guile to pull off such a deception.  
His only tactic now was to clam up. Shrink away from that friendly, enticing look.  
Face turning sullen, he seemed to visibly diminish before her eyes. 

"Sean. I can see you're troubled about something. Something you don't want to speak about. But you don't have to, okay? I know that you have so many feelings and fears, and so much going on both with you, and at home with your parents at the moment." Her voice was quiet and soothing, her eyes searching his, holding them, the gaze steady but in no way threatening. "But I want to ask you something....." 

The youngster visibly braced himself. 

"Have you ever been on an aeroplane?"

She watched the childish mien change to one of confusion. 

"Er.....yeah.....why?" He answered warily. 

"Can you remember before takeoff, when the cabin crew go through the safety procedure?" 

Nodding, he was watching her curiously now, head tilted to one side. Wondering where she was going with this. 

"Well.....if you think back, he or she shows you the exits, the brace position, where to find your life jacket, and then what happens if the air supply is cut off. You recall that?" 

A shrug. 

"Yeah." 

"What does she say?" 

The youngster's eyes rolled up into his head as he struggled to recollect. 

"Um, something about a mask dropping down from the panel overhead....and you pull it towards you....?" 

He looked up hopefully for her affirmation. 

"Well done. But the most important thing she says is this.... _'always put on your own oxygen mask first before helping others'_.......remember that?"

Sean considered, his brow knitted in confusion. So the counsellor continued. 

"It's a mantra to use in times of dire emergency, when you are at your most vulnerable. Not every day perhaps, but for times such as these." 

"I don't get it...." the boy had managed to regain his calm now, the distraction of his thoughts having done their work. 

"Sean, it means that sometimes, when you are overwhelmed by feelings of anger, fear or worry, that you always have time. Stop. Take a breath. Don't let yourself be rushed. You must think of yourself first and how to help yourself feel better, before you think about other people. You're allowed to do that. It's important to give yourself space. To take care of yourself. It might be just some quiet moments alone, or through doing some artwork, reading, listening to music, playing football or whatever you like to do best, but it helps you to put things into perspective. Gather yourself. Just doing that makes you feel stronger, easier in your mind, it refuels you, do you understand?" 

Sean nodded slowly, as if processing the information. 

"Dad's been taking me swimming.....does that count? I really like it. Mum used to come too, when we went _'before'_ , but she's not well enough at the moment, so me and Dad go on our own.....it's fun. I enjoy being just me and him."

Pauline smiled. 

"That's perfect, Sean. Anything you enjoy. Anything that gives you some peace of mind. Helps you not to feel anxious, or upset, to relax, that's what I'm talking about.  
Remember that hmmm? You can use it to help yourself in the future. I'll also teach you some more strategies to help you cope at our next meeting, okay?"

The boy relaxed visibly, letting go a deep sigh.

"Okay. I'll remember. Thanks Mrs Campbell." 

oOo

A sense of calm descended on the Fleming household during the week. 

Carol had been feeling better. She had resumed cooking again, and was making some of the old recipes she used to rustle up 'before'. The meals that her son and Gordon liked best.  
Sean even heard her singing to herself as she worked. A song his mother often loved to sing in former times, sometimes to him at bedtime. 

Hearing it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He wanted to rush to her, cuddle her. He wanted that so, so much. Craving that soft warmth she'd always provided but which had been almost totally absent since she'd been discharged from hospital. 

As for his dad, he seemed to be in a state of perpetual good mood. 

They'd been for long walks together, the three of them, as they'd always done, and to the Adventure Park as promised. 

He'd watched as they walked ahead. Kissed. Held hands.  
Drawing him in with them sometimes, if he was nearby. 

It had been a long time since Sean had seen his father like this. 

Even before Helen arrived he'd sensed that things weren't right between his parents. Long silences. Arguments, where they tried to keep the noise down, hissing at each other like a pair of angry snakes. His mother staying in the city overnight. His father shut up in his little office working. The distance had been widening.  
Now, that distance seemed to be between himself and his mother, whilst his mum and dad grew ever closer. 

That yawning gap had pushed him towards Auntie Helen when she'd first arrived to stay. Because she'd taken notice of him, given him the attention he'd been lacking during the preceding months. 

Now, it seemed they were to be a family again. As they'd once been. In spite of his worst fears.  
Although the times he spent alone with his dad were the crumbs of true security that kept him afloat. He relished every moment. 

Realisation dawning, his parents needed time alone together, and he was in the way. His father had been miserable. He knew that. Hating every moment his wife was away. Sean considered it only right that he must take a back seat for a while, let them renew their relationship. 

But his chest ached with a feeling he couldn't possibly make sense of or describe. 

Not to Mrs Campbell, certainly not to his parents. 

Not to anyone. 

...

It was after lunch. 

Gordon lay in bed. Pressed up against his wife's back. He wanted her to feel how hard he was. How much he wanted her. How desperate. Yet how much he relished the feeling. 

It had been a whole week now. 

Slowly but surely he was losing his mind. 

Early mornings she would be in the kitchen, in her silk dressing gown. Aware that when she bent down it would gape open slightly.  
Or sitting cross legged on the stool at the counter. Letting it fall to the sides, revealing her thighs. 

Walking behind him to fetch a cup, she'd trail a hand across his cheek, or squeeze his backside, or perhaps thread her arms around his middle. 

The gasp he gave was infinitely pleasurable to her. Leaning back into the softness of her chest, taking in her intoxicating scent. 

Stepping out of the shower she would be slow to cover herself, making sure he got an eyeful. 

Gordon had always loved Carol's body. Loved most things about her in fact. 

Her fiery red hair, with tints of copper that shone in the sunlight. The peppering of pale freckles over her back and shoulder blades. A random scattering of the lightest brown, like spots of paint, which he could trace into patterns with a finger.  
Her skin was milky white. Luminescent in the darkness when they were naked together at night, almost transparent in the clear light of day.  
Beautiful breasts with soft rose pink nipples.  
Lovely eyes, which were warm, welcoming, inviting. 

Sean had inherited her colouring. That Celtic strand which ran through them both. 

A whole week.....

He'd started by giving her what he hoped were appropriate looks, but she'd not taken the bait. If he tried to touch her in bed she'd move him away or turn over.  
_'Not now Gordon, I'm so tired today.'_

Lately he'd resorted to pressing himself to her at every opportunity. 

Affectionate. Sweet. Her reaction was to hold him close, humming with pleasure. Allowing the connection as he sought her mouth for a deep kiss. Then backing away, smiling at him, with the promise of _'later darling'_ . 

She could sense his need. 

The power she had over him. 

Afternoons became their main time.  
When Sean was at school and work was done, although Gordon was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate as the week progressed.  
Stroking himself just wasn't the same somehow, and he didn't want to do it anyway. He wanted it to be his wife's hand that fondled him, her caress that turned him on. Anything else now, just didn't feel right. 

Carol called it their 'play time'. 

Said she really knew nothing about all this stuff, but she'd done some online research. 

Starting with a little cozy time first, as now. In bed. Sometimes she remained fully clothed, sometimes stripping both him and herself. 

Once leaving him in his boxers for the entire time, cock straining against them, as she touched him only over the cotton material before exposing just the very tip, the rest of him trapped by the elastic waist band. 

It was torture. 

He loved every second. 

Various new and sensual sessions. 

The blind fold and the ice cubes he also loved. Occasional bouts of being teased with just a feather, or one single finger tip.  
Within fifteen minutes he'd be going quietly mental. Breathing so hard he'd be close to hyperventilating.  
Prick so stiff he felt he would burst simultaneously with barely a touch.  
Lately she'd taken to gripping him tight at the base of his erection with one hand, whilst circling just below the head at the most sensitive point under the frenulum. 

It was almost more than he could bear. Whining and begging, head thrashing, even crying out. 

No mercy. 

Today it began differently. He was bone hard again, unable to work because his thoughts were constantly wandering.  
Downstairs, he found her sitting on the sofa, nonchalantly reading a magazine. 

Entering silently. Straight to her, he knelt down and laid his head in her lap. 

_"Please Carol."_ He whispered. 

A warm smile. 

Holding out her hand, leading him up the stairs, almost dumb with lust. 

There was nothing he loved more than kneeling at her feet as she petted his hair, precious words of endearment, which he so wanted to hear.  
The sensation of knowing he was loved and cherished. Assuaging the guilt he still felt over Helen, despite being forgiven.  
So eager to please her. Worshipping her with fingers and tongue. Wanting to make it good for her so she might reward him.  
Telling her proudly that he hadn't touched himself all week. Wouldn't either. Not until she wanted him to or said he could. 

It was a mind set which he hadn't even realised he desired. 

But by God, he did! 

....

What would it be today? Something new? 

He was so excited. 

Naked now. Penis engorged, proudly standing upright. Balls full, aching.  
Standing before her. Arms away from his body, palms up. As if for inspection.  
Waiting. 

Anticipating. 

She, slowly untying her robe, letting it fall open.

"I've noticed how you always put your hands up behind your head now...." she purred, moving closer. "Would you like me to restrain you..?" 

His mouth opened to speak, but no sound came out but a strangled squawk. 

"Is that a 'yes'?"

Laying him down. Straddling his body, her knees on either side of his thighs, gazing down at him with a look on her face that he couldn't fathom. 

A jolt passed through him like an electric current. 

"Oh god..... _yes_....." his voice was barely audible. 

The flicker of a smile. 

Taking the silk chord from her dressing gown she lifted his arms over his head, tied his wrists together, then attached him to the bars on the bedhead, leaving him just enough slack to move or turn over. 

Already he was panting. Silken material against the skin. Wiggling his hands to test the tautness. 

Helpless. 

"You are so beautiful Gordon." She cooed. "So ready for this." 

His eyes fluttered shut. Stomach rising and falling with increasing speed. Beads of sweat breaking on his brow. 

"Oh Carol, I need this. I need it so much.... _you_.....so much.....I feel alive. More alive than I ever have....but......" 

"But what?" 

"I need....." 

"What do you need Gordon, darling, tell me. You need to come....is that it?" 

"Well, yes, desperately. It's pretty much all I can think about....it has been a whole week.....but....." 

"You have to tell me." She pressed him, her hands resting on his rib cage. "Complete honesty you said. Telling me all your inner fears and feelings.....that's what you said.....remember? Nothing held back." 

Her husband nodded, swallowing heavily. 

"It's not all about the coming.....although that's wonderful.....there's more to it. It's the way I feel, what you make me feel when we do this.  
I don't know how to describe it. But I didn't know.....you have to believe me Carol.....I didn't know I liked this...until that day in the bathroom with your sister. She was such a tease. It turned me on so much. And that makes me feel such terrible guilt. Such remorse. Because I never discussed anything like that with you, I just shut down, drove a wedge between us, almost ended our marriage...and all because we didn't talk.....lost the magic. The driving force behind us." 

Leaning forward she began to kiss down his chest gently. Little butterfly kisses. Tender and soft. 

"But now you've opened up.....been honest with me, now I know what you like, and what I like....and it's bought us back together. Rekindled the spark." 

"I still feel so guilty Carol. So ashamed." 

"Ashamed of what you did with Helen or ashamed of the way it makes you feel when we play?" 

The kisses turned to flicking licks and gentle bites. 

"Both." 

He moaned as her teeth glanced over a nipple. 

"Then what is it you want? You have to tell me." 

Sitting up, she looked down at him with an icy glare.

"I think I should be punished." He mumbled, cheeks blushing red. 

_Oh the triumph in those eyes!_  
Even in her best case scenario she had never imagined this conversation. In her mind it would be a careful coercion, an experimentation, until she assessed his true desires. A gentle introduction perhaps. In no way had she ever envisaged him confessing these fantasies to her and actually asking for what she was longing to give him. 

This was going to be fun! 

"I don't know why I want it, I only know that I do." He murmured, almost apologetically, his eyes searching hers, hoping to see acquiescence. 

Leaning down again until her face was inches from his, she spoke, her voice as soft as the bonds which held him so firmly. 

"I'm happy to oblige." She murmured sweetly. "But it has to be consensual and you have to choose a safe word. In case you change your mind or it becomes too much. Okay?" 

Emphatic nodding. His pupils dilating as she watched, just at the mere thought of what might be about to happen. 

"You want this right now?" Her hiss was silky smooth.

"Only if you want to." 

"Right answer! What _I_ want is only to give you what you desire sweetheart. To make you happy." 

"Please Carol." He begged. 

....

She arranged him like he was an exhibit. On a bath towel. Walking around the bed, viewing him from every angle. There to be admired. 

He'd never felt more exposed. More vulnerable. Adrenaline kicking in, making his heart pump faster. 

To prepare him she'd first turned him over onto his stomach, making him kneel up with his knees spread wide apart. Hands still tied to the bedhead like a leashed dog, head down, arse in the air. Displayed for her pleasure.  
Prick still hard as a broom handle jutting up until it touched his belly. 

Fussing over him at some length. A pillow beneath to support him, making certain the blood flow to his hands wasn't compromised. Petting his head.  
Stroking down the curve of his back to calm him. The touch made him shiver. 

Then suddenly, her hand. Unexpected. Slapping down across his bare backside. 

Hard. 

It hurt. 

Gordon yelped, recoiling and struggling against his bonds. 

"Alright?" She enquired, with a seductive edge to her tone. 

"Yes!" He gasped. "Again.....please."

Twice more she let him have it. Warming him up. 

By that third whack he ceased to fight. Biting his lip. He knew it was fruitless. 

He'd agreed to this, he'd confessed to wanting it. Punishment for all his wrong doings. No going back now. 

After a while he lost count of the slaps, some hard, some softer, focussing on the sound as her palm hit its mark; his buttocks, the backs of his legs, the place where his scrotum rested between his thighs. Christ! Exquisite pain there, causing him to squeal lustily. Making his thigh muscles tremble uncontrollably.  
Breathing laboured, eyes shut tight. Each time her hand connected, she watched in salacious awe as the reddened flesh rippled beneath the blow. 

"You have such a lovely tight little arse Gordon." She whispered thickly, stroking a finger around his anus. 

The moan he gave at that caress went straight to her core.

God! She wanted to touch herself so badly! 

His skin was hot beneath her hand now. The initial sting gradually melting into one long sensation of fire. One more spank, harder this time. 

"Oh Jesus!" 

When he broke it was so sudden. 

All at once Gordon Fleming was crying. 

It was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. She'd never seen him so much as shed a tear. 

Never. 

Great heaving, wracking sobs. 

Taken out of himself, almost as if looking down on his own position of surrender, his bright pink backside, pain mixing with arousal to produce a heady cocktail of excitement. 

"Oh God Carol......." he managed to choke out, "more.....please.....I can take it, I feel as if I'm floating above it all....don't stop now......"

She rained down smack after smack, but her own rising passion was so strong she couldn't hold back from touching herself a moment longer, moving her other hand down between her own legs she began to fondle there, making delicious sounds, bringing herself off in front of him, lips parted, head thrown back....

.....as he watched and wept....

.....

It was over. 

He was laying in her arms. 

Still sniffling uncontrollably. Still panting for breath. 

He'd stayed erect throughout the entire ordeal. Clear fluid pouring from him. 

She was holding him close, hushing him. Kissing his damp face. His hands free now. A red ring around each wrist.  
His arse cheeks burned. 

But he was so proud, so happy. 

Cleansed. 

Still he hadn't come. Didn't even know if he could or even should. 

Didn't care if he came or not, but what he wanted more than anything now was to be inside his wife. Frotting himself against her thigh he told her so. 

"Can I fuck you Carol? Please say yes." 

"No Gordon. You don't get that today. If you need relief, I'll use my hand.....or you can use your own.... _or_ you can wait a few more days....." 

It was a challenge. 

His face changed. The disappointment written large. Could he wait longer? Endure? Surely, after all he'd suffered for her, she'd allow him this. He deserved it, didn't he? 

No. He didn't deserve anything. It was for her to decide whether he should be satisfied or not. 

"But Carol.....it's been a whole week already, I can't concentrate, I can't think, I can't function anymore..... please...." 

A little laugh. 

"Gordon. Tell me. Are you mine?" She asked testily. 

Gordon hesitated. Then surrendered with a sigh. 

"I'm yours." He admitted. "Of course I am." Lowering his head he kissed her hand with reverence, the hand that had so recently chastised him. Yes. He would go without. Accept it. Be patient. 

"Good." She replied. "As long as that's settled. You willingly placed yourself in my hands darling. This was what we agreed. What you wanted." 

_"I love you."_ His words hung tremulously in the air. 

So meek. Such a dear man. 

A conciliatory peck on his dry lips. 

Releasing him from her embrace, she rose without a word, leaving the room. Gordon watched her go in utter desolation.  
In mere moments, however, she returned with a cool drink for him and some Arnica based lotion. 

Taking the cup in a trembling hand he drank thirstily. Wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist, passing her back the empty cup with grateful thanks. 

She was watching him closely. He looked so adorably sweet, so utterly wrecked by this new experience. Glancing down at his still straining erection, the veins bulging, it had not even begun to deflate. 

Poor lamb! 

She tutted, and stroked his face, causing him to lay his cheek against the palm of her hand, looking into her eyes. The depth of devotion was humbling. 

"Turn over. Lie on your tummy, put that arse up for me." She instructed with a matronly air. 

He obeyed without question, scrabbling the sheets to obey her. 

The pop of the tube and the cold feel of the cream made him suck in his breath. Gently she applied a layer of the ointment to his flayed skin, and tender scrotum. The throb began to subside. 

Soothing. Cooling. Balm which made him hiss against the sting. 

"Is it _very_ sore?" She enquired, almost hopefully. 

"Yeah. Hurts like fuck." 

"You'll have trouble sitting for a day or two. No more of this until you've recovered....agreed?" 

"Yes Carol. Whatever you say." 

She kissed his back, where the trickle of sweat had dried between his shoulder blades. 

"Dear man! How can I possibly resist you?" Her smile was the warmest yet. 

Once the cream had soaked in she continued to massage both his buttocks tenderly, before dipping between his legs to fondle him there. Gordon groaned, his aching knees almost giving way. Reaching around him she closed her fingers around his shaft. 

Slow and deft strokes. It was not long before he was pleading and whining again. 

"Stop your wingeing or I'll ruin it.....it's this or nothing at all. Your choice." Her tone was kindly but firm. 

"This. Please Carol. _This_." He implored, unable to prevent himself moving back and forth to match the rhythm of her hand. 

He knew she had the power to hold him there almost indefinitely. On the brink. Then back away and watch while he calmed, before beginning again. He just hoped this time she'd really take pity on him. 

Carol was well aware of his struggle. So overwrought, so wound up by the spanking that he couldn't hold it for long. Still she maintained her control. Right to the bitter end. 

"I'm so close......so close Carol......can I? Can I? Let me for the love of God...." 

"I'll count to five....."

Moments later he gave a stifled cry, spattering the towel on which she'd placed him, her hand and his own stomach. 

The release was explosive. The orgasm literally drawn out of him, rippling through his body like waves. He hung there, like a suspended helium balloon for several moments, before collapsing forwards into his own mess. 

Gasping for air amid a flurry of more tears. A stream of ardent protestations of his love, falling from his mouth like so many autumn leaves. 

This was the payoff. This was what he'd craved. 

He was finally allowed to be free. 

Euphoric, as the endorphins flooded his brain. 

He loved his wife more than his inadequate tumbling words could even begin to articulate. 

She'd come back from the dead. She'd saved him. Saved them.....

 

.....it was Carol who did the school run later that afternoon. 

Gordon Fleming, exhausted beyond tiredness, slept.


	12. After the Fire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Nick and Rhona visit the burned out Fleming house.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the fire information has been carefully put together from the scenes which we see in the show. It's really a matter of using or adapting what's already there. As yet the investigators can only go by the things they see, and are unable to reach concrete conclusions. 
> 
> The scrapbook discovered is the one found by Carol and taken to Monaghan in the programme, the reactions taken directly from that scene. 
> 
> I don't want people to think of Crowther and Jameson as a pseudo Holmes and Watson. If anything I would say they are more akin to the wonderful Jimmy Perez and Tosh, both of whom I adore in 'Shetland'. I've not really based them on any character but if I had to look for a comparison then that would be it.

CHAPTER TWELVE.  
AFTER THE FIRE.

Torrential rain bucketed down, blown almost horizontally. The clouds over the Firth angry and glowering. 

A tent had been erected for the Scenes of Crime team to change beneath, but the shelter it offered was meagre to say the least. A strong relentless wind tugged at the guy ropes which held it in place, prompting Crowther to remark that at any moment it might well go sailing off across to Arran. 

It had been a bad start to the morning. 

Woken at five am with the news that a child's body had been found on waste ground outside the city by a dog walker, possibly the missing wean from Paisley, the Detective Sergeant was now swapping one tented changing area for another.  
For the second time that day he zipped himself into the white papery suit, pulled the hood over to cover his hair, before hopping from one foot to the other as he donned a pair of blue plastic elasticated overshoes.

And it was still only 9am! 

Sometimes there were just mornings when he wished he was an accountant, or perhaps a painter and decorator. 

Rhona, beside him, was also suitably gowned up for the occasion. Snapping her hands into latex gloves, her expression somewhat bleak and pinched.  
She was, however, pleased that her superior had decided to include her on this most miserable of days.  
The Fleming case had come to mean a great deal to her, and she was anxious that justice be done, for whichever sister it turned out to be lying back on the mortuary slab. 

"Ready?" He enquired. 

Nodding, the pair trudged over the special matting and into the house. 

Or what was left of it. 

Various officers, similarly clad, were busy packing up their gear; metal suitcases, cameras, lighting stands and all the equipment necessary to sift through every minute scrap of evidence. Their work pretty much done. 

From the outside, the fabric of the building appeared relatively untouched, standing alone at the end of its lane, proud and strong, but once inside, the walls around them stood blackened, an all encompassing smell of ash and smoke which lingered in the nostrils. 

Some lower windows blown out. Net curtain flapping mournfully through a jagged hole. 

Water from the fire hoses had peeled the paper from the walls and run down in inky streaks. Downstairs, particularly the kitchen, was more or less gutted. The stairs shored up, rendered unsafe, and a temporary steel ladder access put in their place. 

A melancholy picture indeed. 

Here and there were places where the fabric seemed relatively untouched, yet an item only feet away would be practically reduced to charcoal. 

Beneath their feet crunched broken glass and lumps of charred timber. Forcing them to pick their way carefully amongst the debris.  
Seemingly scattered randomly throughout were small numbered orange marker squares. Denoting an item or a feature of interest. 

Nick Crowther surveyed the scene of devastation in silence. 

PC Jameson wandered the hallway beside him. Her eyes scanning everything around her. Taking it in. Water dripped from overhead. A dangling floorboard or coil of wire . Eviscerated personal objects, once cherished, now almost beyond recognition. The all pervading stench of what smelled like singed cat. Making her wrinkle her nose. 

"Fucking hell." She breathed. 

"Couldn't have put it better myself." Her boss replied, amused at the curse words. "Like the fucking Black Hole of Calcutta."

Down the ladder, arse first, came Doctor Brian Garret, the senior pathologist in charge of the crime scene. Turning to see his detective colleagues, he beamed a greeting. 

"Nick! Hello old son! How's it hangin'?" 

Crowther pulled a face. 

"It isn't Bri! It's shrivelled away to nothing. It only sees the light of day when I take a slash. My wife has even forgotten what my face looks like, let alone my dick." 

The riposte was good natured enough, causing the Doctor to laugh. 

Rhona looked away, stifling a wry grin. 

"And what about you hen, any love action?" Turning his attention to the female PC. 

"Me?" She responded, eyebrows arched. "You must be joking! Haven't seen one for weeks. I compensate for my lack of sex life by drowning my sorrows in copious amounts of alcohol." 

"Ah!" The Officer shook his head regretfully. "It's a sad thing! All work and no play! Waste of a lovely lass like you too!" 

Ribald humour such as this was part and parcel in a job which was dominated by men. Women being outnumbered in the profession by almost 4:1.  
It may not be Politically Correct, but it was there nevertheless.  
Rhona had no problem with banter such as this. She well knew that without a sense of humour, the ability to laugh at themselves and amongst themselves, an officer, be they male or female, would soon become overwhelmed by the sights and traumas they witnessed on a daily basis.  
It was the sexist remarks which annoyed her far more. The lewd personal comments, or, worse, bottom pinching and the like. 

As far as badinage went, she could give every bit as good as she got. 

"What about yourself Doctor, any joy?" She retorted, with a smile. 

"Oh, I'm now completely celibate." He replied smartly. "I make do with a hair shirt and self flagellation." 

All three laughed heartily together. 

"Right! Well, enough of this harmless frivolity! We'd best get on. We'll start in the kitchen....if you'll kindly follow me." 

The Fleming's kitchen had been at the heart of the conflagration, and was, therefore, the most damaged. The heat so intense that household appliances melted. Wall tiles cracked and blistered, an explosion, caused by gas canisters had completed the destruction, blowing out the windows.  
A sooty deposit caked the walls and seeing it made Crowther amazed that anyone had been taken out of the house alive. 

Sweeping a hand in a grandiose gesture for effect, Garret spoke.

"This was where the fire started...." (Which was kinda stating the bleedin' obvious, but neither of the police officers deigned to comment.)  
"......in the waste bin. It took hold very quickly. So many flammable substances....tea towels, kitchen paper, curtains, you name it." 

"Started deliberately I assume?" Nick said, without really thinking. 

"Most definitely matey boy. Paper and lighter fuel. Set alight and dropped in. Bingo!" 

Moving briskly, the trio returned to the hall. Avoiding a light fitting which dangled precariously from its anchor point in the ceiling above their heads. 

The doctor began by working his way methodically through the various numbered squares placed here and there on the floor. Pointing and describing each in turn. 

"Here, we found signs of a struggle. Blood spatters. A mobile phone lay just by the door. Screen smashed, badly fire damaged, but we salvaged the sim card. It was Carol Fleming's. We'll see if there's any retrievable data from it. This hall table was overturned....and that was bloody lucky, because it screened the answer phone from the worst of the heat, oh and the telephone cable had been sheared through." 

"Melted by the fire or severed?" PC Jameson interrupted. 

"Severed. Deliberately. The table is badly blistered, but, although the plastic of the machine was contorted, the tape inside it might just be viable. I've sent it back to the lab to see what the boys can make of it...."

"Good _work_!" Crowther exclaimed. 

".....just here is where the knife was found. Kitchen knife, black handle, ten inch blade. Taken from the magnetic wall mount in the kitchen. It lay here, not far from where Mrs Fleming was pulled out. It appears she'd crawled to the front door, which was, oddly, firmly locked, so, unable to open it she then lost consciousness. Fortunate she was here because the worst of the flames bypassed this area, as you can see. The draft under the door funnelling them up the stairwell. There were traces of blood on the floor here and here....." bending, the pathologist indicated the relevant areas, ".....where Helen Reid dragged herself, presumably coming from her head wound. She was found here, lying at the bottom of the stairs, having probably fallen down them.  
I have her clothing and the clothing taken from Mrs Fleming in the hospital, bagged and sitting on my bench ready for analysis, should be able to assess any blood stains, rips, chemical residue etc etc." 

Turning, he began to ascend the temporary ladder. 

"Now here's where it gets interesting...." He waggled his eyebrows expressively as they followed him gingerly up the slippery rungs, alighting on the landing. ".....from our investigations we've pieced together what we think happened. My conjecture is that the two woman were fighting. From the injuries on both I'd say it was frenzied and violent....but that Mrs Fleming emerged the stronger of the two. The bathroom door glass is smashed in and the lock broken. So one of them escaped this far, for safety presumably, the other broke in to reach her. Mrs Reid's head wound came from hitting the banister, blood and hair were found there. She must then have fallen down the stairs, where she later succumbed to the fire. Her sister must have practically stepped over her in an effort to get out.....but, well.....survival instinct is strong at times like that. Self preservation takes over. She's a mother, she'd want to live....you know....for her son....her husband...." 

"If it's even her!" Rhona piped up, lifting her leg over a fallen and charred picture, before moving passed to enter one of the bedrooms. 

"The damage up here is far less than downstairs. The Fire Brigade reached the scene pretty sharpish, so there's more to be revealed. We found a suitcase on the bed, half packed, stuff just hurled in, possibly by the sister, drawers were half open, wardrobe gaping, things pulled off hangers, so there was obviously a tussle in here too.....this was Reid's room by the way. Also we found this....under the bed."

An evidence bag lay on the remains of the duvet, carefully packaged. It contained a scrap book.

"It's badly scorched, in need of expert TLC, but parts are readable. Seems she'd been compiling a dossier on her sibling. All the relevant information she could glean." 

"Fuck! This must be what Carol discovered and took to the university.....to show Monaghan.....Rhona, give the good Douglas a ring.....see if you can get hold of him to meet us back at the path lab....." 

"Will do Skip." 

Before heading down the stepladder, the policewoman opened the only door on the landing which was firmly closed.  
Peering inside, before wandering in, glancing all around her. 

The room of a child. 

It was the least burnt of all, being at the far end, the door remaining firmly shut throughout. 

Smelling strongly of smoke, filled with soot and a smutty residue, it was otherwise reasonably unscathed.  
Hand drawn pictures hung peeling from the walls. Their edges curled.  
Action figures, books and all manner of boyish toys lay around. All covered with an inky coating like liquid charcoal, rendering them unusable but otherwise essentially unharmed. A computer on the desk with a lamp beside. Both besmeared with a thick blanket of grime.  
Dust motes and blackened flakes floated in the smoggy air.  
On the bed, with its footballer bedlinen, almost unrecognisable beneath the film of powdery carbon, lay an abandoned forlorn teddy.  
It's fur matted and caked, clearly well loved, now looking in desperate need of a wash and a cuddle. 

She suddenly felt very sad. 

Crowther poked his head in behind her. Entering quietly. Just as she leaned over to rescue the bear. 

"Poor wean." He said gently. "Look at that! His whole wee life, a microcosm, all plastered with black shite."

"I'll take the ted." Dropping the stuffed toy into a clear plastic bag and sealing it with her gloved fingers. "I'll give him a wash, and run him over.....the lad might be pleased to have him back." 

"That's a nice thought Constable. You do that.....did you reach Monaghan?"

"On it now sir. Give me a mo." 

oOo

_Later......_

Dr Douglas Monaghan stood by the lab bench. Arms locked at the elbows. Leaning heavily on the heels of his hands. 

Between them, lying open on the table top, was the scrapbook. 

It could have been a manuscript penned in antiquity, or a priceless artefact from the dawn of time. Vellum or parchment from ancient Egypt or some forgotten Dark Age abbey. 

The pages were as fragile as dried leaves which had fallen many autumns before. 

Crisp and brown at the edges. The margins curled and desiccated. 

Only the centre of each folio was viable. Crinkled, the colour of used teabags, but just legible. 

Each separate leaf had been painstakingly pressed between two sheets of special plastic, to ensure it held its integrity. 

Crumbling and wafer thin, just one touch with a finger could cause the whole thing to fall into dust. 

Wearing cotton gloves, Monaghan gingerly turned each carefully preserved sheet, perusing it at some length, before moving on to the next, holding it with just the tips of his fingers. 

His eyes glittered as he squinted, in order to decipher what he could of the hastily written notes. Here and there an old photo had been pasted, or held with a metal paper clip, these too were blistered and wrinkled with the heat of the fire.  
Just visible in some cases, charred beyond recognition in others. 

"Well?" 

DS Crowther waited impatiently nearby, his mouth full of a dry and wholly unprepossessing sandwich. His first solid nutrition since rising at 5am. He masticated ponderously, switching from cheek to cheek like a cow chewing the cud.  
Glancing up from his visual transcription, the psychologist nodded.

"It's definitely the same one. The one Carol bought into the university. She found it in Helen's room she said." 

Douglas blew air out through his mouth in frustration, allowing his shoulders to drop. Crowther seemed incandescent.

"Fuck me! And it didn't ring alarm bells?" A shower of crumbs accompanied this sentence, as if to emphasise his friend's annoyance. 

Turning to face the detective square on, the doctor's sallow skin was now flushed, his eyes narrowed behind his steel rimmed glasses. 

"Well, of _course_ it did.....but you know what.....I thought Carol was being a tad paranoid at the time, if I'm honest. You don't immediately assume someone is psychotic do you? My first thought then was that she was documenting aspects of her sister's life in order to impress me at the telepathy tests. I knew virtually nothing about Helen Reid then. So I half dismissed it, I told her to replace the folder where she'd found it, and I'd have a word with Helen about it myself....I never got the chance. I could hardly have come to the likes of you with it, could I now? You'd think I was just as potty as you did the day I arrived at your door wittering on about shoelaces!"

"Fair point." Nick conceded, swallowing his mouthful and taking a swig from a water bottle. 

"I tell you something though.....I hate this fucking case. Tons of evidence, and none of it proves a damn thing. It's like playing a game of 'whack-a-mole'. I hit one over the head, it disappears and I'm waiting for the next bastard to pop up elsewhere! No tellings where that might be! It's royally pissing me off." 

Hurling the remains of his crusts into the nearest bin.....and missing.....the Detective Sergeant stomped away, hands thrust deep into his coat pockets. 

oOo

The cozy family scene that met Detective Sergeant Crowther and PC Rhona Jameson's eyes, couldn't have been more domestically perfect had it been stage managed especially for their benefit. 

In fact, had it not been an impromptu visit, the policeman would have come to just that conclusion. 

Gathered around the kitchen counter, mother and son were in the throes of decorating little buns.  
Rejoined by the father, after showing them through. 

An aroma of baking fit to prompt immediate salivation met their nostrils as they entered. 

"What can we do for you Sergeant....Crowther isn't it?" 

Carol Fleming was resplendent in an apron, a puff of white icing sugar on her cheek. Sean was close by, carefully cutting the tops of the cakes to make them into butterflies.  
Gordon, his back to them, at the sink washing up the bun tin. 

"We're so sorry to barge in like this...." 

If only Crowther's voice carried the full conviction he attempted to convey.

Turning, the parent placed his hands on Sean's shoulders. 

"Best go out and play for a bit." He said softly into the shell like ear. "We'll finish these off after." 

A scowl crossed the freckled face. Climbing down with an angry pout, the boy stomped from the room.  
Slam! Went the back door. 

Outside there then came the annoying and persistent sound of a football being smashed against the wall repeatedly. Making his continued presence felt. 

"Excuse our son." His dad offered apologetically. "He's had a tough couple of weeks."

Motioning to their visitors to take a seat, Carol perched herself on a stool, her husband did the same. 

It did not escape either Rhona's or his wife's notice, that he gave a little wince as he did so. 

Looking straight into his eyes, she smiled warmly at him giving a little wink, and he smiled back, colouring noticeably. 

"How can we help you Detective?" He asked, dragging his attention away with some difficulty. 

"Well, it's routine really, and I know you've gone over it all before, but I wanted to clarify a few points of the events before and during the fire." 

A sigh of exasperation. 

"As I said before, I don't remember much." She replied, with an indifferent shrug. 

Rising, her husband placed an arm gently around her shoulder. Her hand coming up to cover his where it rested against her arm. A protective gesture but also one of slight defiance. 

_'Solidarity._ ' Rhona thought, watching them both carefully. 

"Just tell us everything you do recall. Even the smallest point might be important." She began, taking out her notebook, and a pen. 

"It's all so blurry. I was terribly upset after my husband left, taking Sean with him. We had a row. I told Helen to pack her things and leave. I can vaguely remember her coming at me with a knife. We fought....." 

Crowther interrupted. 

"Are you sure your memory is correct? Helen's hands show defensive cut marks, suggesting it was she who was attacked." 

A curve ball. 

Both police officers watched the woman's reaction. 

There was the merest flicker.

"Well, that's as maybe, I think at one point I wrestled it from her, I also seem to remember trying to phone the police.....there was smoke by then, the kitchen was on fire. Helen was in a mad frenzy. I ran to the bathroom, locked myself in, but she broke the door down. After that, well......it's just a blank. I woke in the Infirmary." 

"Is all this strictly necessary?" Gordon butted in, cutting the questioning off. "Hasn't my wife suffered enough?"

The Detective turned his attention to the man standing, clasping his wife to his side as if shielding her, fixing him with a steely glare. 

"I'm sure you would want us to get to the truth of the matter Mr Fleming. After all, a woman died." 

"Speaking of which." Came his wife's sharp response. "When will we be allowed to bury my sister? Holding the funeral is the first part of achieving some degree of closure, allowing us to move on with our lives." 

"Soon. When all our examinations and investigations are completed. These things can't be rushed, as I'm sure you're both aware. You wouldn't want us to miss anything vital to the inquiry?"

At that moment PC Jameson observed what she was sure was the first chink in the armour. A surreptitious glance, by Gordon, towards his wife, a moment of doubt, before she squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

"I'll help any way I can of course...." She smiled calmly, "....even though I'm sure I'm no help at all." 

"It must have been really hard for you." Crowther responded kindly, giving Rhona the signal that they were almost done. "Leaving her there like that, whilst you tried to escape." 

The smile was instantly erased. 

"What do you mean by that?" Her tone was challenging, but there was a hint of concern behind her outward show of confidence. Reaching for a cigarette, she lit it and puffed. The fingers which clasped it were trembling ever so slightly. 

"Helen. Your sister. After she fell down the stairs. You must have known she was unconscious. That she would burn...." 

Both husband and wife glanced at each other a second time. Gordon blanched white as a ghost. 

"As I said before, everything is indistinct. Hazy. I only remember the odd moment. The rest has gone." 

"Oh well, if anything comes back to you....." he paused, "......by the way, we found the scrapbook, you'll be pleased to know, and some of it was still legible." 

"Scrapbook?" She hesitated, cagey, looking completely nonplussed. 

"Yes. Monaghan has confirmed it's the same one." 

Shaking her red head, the woman looked completely flummoxed. 

"Monaghan? But what's he got t....I don't understand." Becoming increasingly agitated. 

"Have you forgotten that too? Dear me. So many things! You took it to show him....when you found it....don't you recall?" 

Her face changed. Realisation hitting. 

"Oh yes! Of course. I thought it would be destroyed in the f......oh, well I'm glad you found it. That's good news." She rallied well, but not well enough, and she knew it. 

Damn this policeman. He was far too clever for his own good.

"Well! That's us!" clapping his large hands together with finality, Crowther turned to go. " I'm so grateful for your assistance in this matter. We'll be in touch as soon as the pathologist releases the body. Oh.....and you'll also be pleased to know.....the response to our appeal on the murder of your friend Mr O'Connor has reaped rewards. I'm sure we'll be soon be able to draw a line under that case too." 

"That's.....that's good news too, officer." She stammered. Now visibly shaken. 

"We'll see ourselves out!" 

Once out of earshot, PC Jameson took her colleague by the arm. 

"There's been no word of the appeal response yet has there?" She hissed. 

Her superior tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially.

"I know! But she doesn't know that!" 

Just then a childish voice piped up from nearby, making him almost jump out of his skin. 

Rhona and Nick swivelled round to see two expressive green eyes regarding them dolefully. 

"Have you come to arrest my mum?" He asked expectantly.

"No son! Just questions that's all." 

His face a mask of acceptance, the boy seemed to shrink back. 

"Oh." He replied. 

"I have something for you." Rhona suddenly remembered the bear. Now clean, sitting on the back seat of her car. She hurried to fetch it. 

The child seemed to brighten at the thought of a surprise, however small. 

His ruddy face broke into a wide smile however, when he saw what she held. 

"My Freddo!" He cried, hugging it to his chest. "Where'd you find him?" 

"In your old bedroom....he was a bit mucky, so I washed him for you....he's good as new now." 

The eyes that looked back into hers were spilling over. 

"Thanks so much Miss." He breathed. 

"That's ok, I've still got my old ted, he sits on my bed at home, I've had him since I was three." 

"My Mum bought me Freddo, when I was a wee bairn." 

Rhona smiled, bending at the knees so that she came down to his level. 

"So he means a great deal?"

An emphatic nod was the only reply. 

"Why did you think we'd come to arrest your mum?" Her question was light and noncommittal. 

The child thought for a second. 

"Dunno, just did." He shrugged, unable to meet her gaze.

"Sean! Where are you? Come and finish your cakes." His mother's voice called from inside the house. 

"I gotta go. Thanks for bringing Freddo." 

Relieved to escape, Sean dashed indoors. 

Rhona looked after him, shaking her head. 

_'That young man knows something.'_ She thought.


	13. House of Cards.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chink in the armour of Carol's carefully laid plans.....Gordon stands up for himself.  
> Sean is beginning to become a nuisance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this chapter this wasn't what I'd set out to write. It came out of my head and onto the page fully formed. 
> 
> It's the first time we really see Gordon question his wife. The first time he really doubts her, not to the point where he suspects her actual identity, but to the point where he wonders whether she's fundamentally changed forever by her experiences.
> 
> As far as Sean is goes he's causing her some concern with the things he says, and she realises she's not getting through to him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.  
HOUSE OF CARDS. 

A thick mist lay over the Firth. 

It hung just above the water as if the sea were breathing out as it lay sleeping. Flat calm. Barely a ripple broke its surface. The top of Goat Fell just peering above the layer of fog. A distant mountain with snow on its peak. Suspended between land and sea, held up with no visible means of support.  
Floating there like the dark entrance to the Underworld, magical and mythical, an echo of days long past. 

The sun was yet to rise, the distant landscape shaded purple, the colour of the heather on the hills beyond. It was a view which gave peace.  
Being able to look out of his window onto it each morning made life worth living.....

Since the visit of Detective Crowther his wife had been quiet. Morose even. Uncommunicative when he gently asked what seemed to be troubling her so. At first she'd been reluctant to answer his questions, but when he reminded her of their pact to be straight with each other, she'd acquiesced.  
Telling him how her sister had made a scrap book, documenting all aspects of their lives. How she was now convinced there was nothing sinister in it, in spite of the fact she'd been scared at the time and had taken it to show Monaghan. How she wished they could just be free of all the fallout from Helen's death, free to get on with their lives. Confiding that she wished she'd never met her twin. The encounter had blighted her life. It worried and frightened her, she said.  
Her husband comforted her as best he could. She clung to him as he told her everything would be okay. They had each other, no matter what. They had Sean. They were so lucky.....

With a sigh, he turned away from the vista to begin the business of the day. 

Gordon was working hard on an advertising campaign, and had therefore risen early to make a start. Carol reluctantly pulled herself from between the warm sheets, as it was clear that breakfast duties and the school run were down to her.  
Calling down the landing as he padded barefoot on the wooden floor. 

"Sean! Wakey wakey! Time to get up!" 

Yawning. Stirring. Emerging from beneath the duvet like a tortoise from its shell. His teddy clutched close.  
A young boy who's sleep these days was not as it once was. Formerly the sleep of innocence, off to nod land as soon as his head hit the pillow.....but not any more.  
These days, when he closed his eyes, dreams assailed him. Not all of which he cared to share with his counsellor.  
Dreams where he was alone and friendless. Dreams where he ran and ran pursued by God knows what. Dreams of flames and destruction. Waking tired and exhausted from tossing and turning, full of a restless anxiety which he could not name. 

Now insisting his door be left open at night, and a light on. 

There he lay, listening intently to his parents. 

They were both in the bathroom. Door closed so he couldn't see them, only shadows moving behind the frosted glass, but he could hear snatches of conversation well enough. 

Shaving at the sink whilst his wife showered, Gordon suddenly felt cold, damp hands at his waist band. 

"Christ Carol! Do you want me to cut my throat? What the hell are you doing?" 

Her towel slipped to the floor. 

Sliding inside his pyjama trousers she began to knead his buttocks, causing him to hiss and pull away. 

"Still sore eh?" She whispered, her lips very close to his ear, catching the soft lobe between her teeth and tugging gently. 

His hands gripped the sink edge. 

"No more until I'm recovered you said...." he gasped, as his body began to react in spite of himself. 

"I'm sorry darling. But it is rather difficult to keep my hands off you.....especially when I see you like this in the mornings." 

Tense throughout his whole body, he controlled his breathing with great difficulty, trying to break free of her wandering hands. 

"Don't Carol. Please. I need to get to work, and you need to get Sean off to school. I can't do this right now." 

She pouted like a schoolgirl. 

"You're on a promise Gordon, I think some playtime this afternoon, don't you? So I thought I'd just warm you up a little, letting you know what's to come. You'll like it, I guarantee." 

She watched the flush engulf his neck, spreading to his face almost as far as his hair, as she continued to massage him gently. 

"It can't be today Carol, I told you, I MUST work, I need to get something off to the company by the end of the afternoon.....and anyway.....you said not yet, you said I must wait, and I will, the waiting is what makes it so intense.....I can't take another session like the last, not yet. It's too much." 

Ignoring his protest, her hands reached around to his front. Of course he was hard. 

Of course he was. 

Powerless to resist. 

"I wasn't planning another afternoon like the last." She replied softly. "I had other ideas for that beautiful arse of yours. Picture it Gordon......you, naked, nicely restrained, your little red bum in the air, panting with lust while my fingers slide inside you.....think about it....think about how you moaned when I merely touched you there before....how much you wanted me to penetrate you....give you all that pleasure....it's been over a week now so you should be good and ready....aching for me......aren't you my darling?"

His voice was weak now, eyelids fluttering, words coming between sharp, tight breaths. 

"Carol. Please. I'm begging you to stop. If I lose this contract we'll have no money coming in, and my reputation will be shot. It's a struggle on just my wage....we still have bills to pay, Sean to consider, God knows, you know everything that's in my head, you _know_ I want this, you know I love you.....that I'll willingly surrender myself to you......but I can't do this now.....please sweetheart.....please, not today....." 

In an instant her hands were gone. Leaving her husband feeling as if he were dying of thirst in a desert, with water inches away from his lips that he could not reach.  
Head over the sink bowl, panting in an effort to keep a lid on his emotions. 

"Alright." She responded, with an almost vicious harshness, stepping back from him. "Have it your own way. I'll make you wait another fortnight. Let's see how you're fairing then eh?"

There was no anger in his expression. Only deep hurt. He was looking at her in the mirror as she stood at his shoulder. Not turning. 

"I can't believe you're being so....so......I don't know...." he began, speaking as if to his own reflection. "I know how hard it's been for you, but it's tough on me too....and on Sean.....it's been like a whole new start, for us both, and whether you like it or not, this experience has changed you. It'll be a while until you are wholly the Carol you once were....but we understand that.  
I was hoping that when you were feeling more your old self, that you'd want to go back to the Art School, I thought it would be the catalyst to aid your recovery. Give you a purpose again. Doing something I know you love....." 

"Nonsense! You're only concerned about the money I'll bring in!" 

Gordon blustered, protesting more violently than she'd ever seen. She regarded his mirror image with distain. 

"Carol! That's _not_ true! Not for one moment. Surely you know me better than that? I don't care about the money. We'll manage somehow....it's your well-being I care about. You're my wife. I love you so much." 

A tide turned. He was being honest, sweet, loving. He meant it. Knowing all was lost she gave in. 

Weeping. Leaning her head against his bare skin. Feeling the ridges of his spine beneath her cheek. Arms threaded around his middle. 

"I'm so sorry Gordon. I'm trying so hard to get back to normal. It's just that since.....you know.....since.....I feel so different inside. Lost. Like a part of me has been taken away. I gaze at myself in the glass sometimes and I don't recognise who I see.....it's like someone is standing behind me, looking over my shoulder. Laughing at me." 

She sobbed bitterly. 

Her husband turned, finally. Drawing her close to him. Caressing her exposed skin. 

"Listen. Sweetheart. We'll continue this later....hmmm? I'll try to finish my work early, you get Sean off to school....and we'll talk later.....yeah?" 

"Talk?" She queried. " _Just_ talk?" She added, with a hint of seduction in her voice. 

"Yes, Carol. _Just talk_. We need to. Honesty, you said. Tell each other everything.....talking is the only way to solve it. Sex is wonderful, playtime is wonderful, but it doesn't solve what needs to be actually said.....so..... _talk_.....you and I. Later hmmm?" 

Raising her head, she looked up at him. His eyes were damp. Filled with adoration. All for her. 

But once again she'd allowed him to attain the upper hand, losing that precious control. However, she knew better now....when to give him rein and when not. It was a minor victory on his part, she'd happily concede this time. 

"Okay. We'll talk. You're right.....I'd better get dressed. Get Sean some breakfast." 

Releasing her from his embrace, he watched as she retrieved her towel, wrapped herself into it, placed a quick kiss upon his lips and skipped back across the landing towards the bedroom.  
Swallowing thickly.  
Looking down at his still bulging pyjamas, replaying in his mind her promise to him of what was to come. 

Closing his eyes at the thought. Breath quickening again. 

"Oh God help me." He murmured.....

......

Walking out to the car, the grass was soaking underfoot. Cobwebs hung bejewelled from every bush and bramble at the edge of the lane.  
No birds were singing, they sat, mute, huddled and puffed up against the chill morning air. 

Condensation lay thick on the windscreen, the wipers ploughing a semi circle through it, sweeping it away. With a finger tip, Sean drew three stick figures, two large, one small, before rubbing them out with his sleeve angrily.  
It was light enough now not to need headlights and he sat, strapped into the back seat staring out at the beach and the sea with a countenance more brooding than the weather as they joined the main road. 

Lifting her head so that she could see him in the rear view mirror, his mother glanced from time to time. 

"You okay wee laddie?" She asked after a while, when she could stand the eerie silence no longer. 

"Don't call me that." He returned with a scowl. 

"Why not? I always called you that." She shot back. 

"No you didn't." He sank down further in the seat so that her eyes were not boring into his. 

A lonely gull seemed to be flying almost alongside them, and Sean watched it intently. Black back, grey undercarriage. Perfectly formed for skimming over the waves. It seemed so free. So utterly without care, hanging in the air with barely a wingbeat. Feet tucked under its tail, it's beak opening from time to time as it let out its haunting shrieking cry. A mournful sound which matched his mood. 

Mulling over the snatches of conversation he'd eavesdropped that morning through the bathroom door. Chiefly his father's words, most of which he'd managed to catch. Her's being less distinct. His name mentioned several times, his ears straining when he heard it. Muffled sounds of crying. Voices raised from time to time. 

Oh God! If only they could go back in time! To before Auntie Helen.  
Even though things weren't brilliant then, at least he knew his mum loved him. Wanted him around. 

Everything had changed. His whole world. 

His dad the only real constant. 

Sean swallowed down the rising tears. 

He was frightened. 

So very afraid. So very alone. 

"Shall we have some music?" Carol suggested. Fiddling with the dial on the radio. 

"I'm not bothered." Came the response. 

Silence again. Long and protracted. 

Then....

"Do you love my dad?" 

She almost pulled off the road at the sudden directness of the question, and the way in which it was worded. 

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" She turned her head, craning her neck to look at him, taking her eyes off the road. 

"Well do you? I heard him say he loves you, so much....but I never heard you say it back." 

"Of course I do! Why would you think I didn't? I've always loved him." 

"No you haven't." 

In the mirror she could see his green eyes glinting. Stern and unflinching, but brimming over. 

"Sean, what's on your mind? Why won't you talk to me? Whatever it is, we can sort it out. I know all this has been hard for you to understand, adult stuff always is, and it's tough for you, I realise that. But talking helps." 

"I've got Mrs Campbell." His reply was sullen, breaking the locked gaze, staring resolutely out of the window. 

"Well, I'm glad you have. Your dad and I have had some serious issues to work out. Especially since I came out of hospital. Things were a little difficult even before my sister turned up. I'm sure you noticed. But we are sorting it out, and it'll be alright....okay? We'll be as we were again." 

"Dad seems really happy when you're together now. He wasn't before. He never smiled, but now he does." 

Carol smiled gently, as she slowed the car to make the turn into the School road. 

"I know, darling. We are making it work again Sean. We're doing it for each other and for you, so we can be a proper family again. Just as we were before." 

Pulling up to the kerb, she swivelled in her seat to look at him as he unbelted himself prior to climbing out. There were still tears in his eyes.  
Carol opened her own door.  
Mother and son standing toe to toe on the pavement. 

"Hope you have a good day. Do I get a hug?" 

Shouldering his school bag he regarded her critically, making no move. 

"Sean. Please." 

The cat like eyes narrowed as he considered, seemingly wrestling with his conscience, a single tear running down his nose. 

"We'll never be as we were before." He said flatly. 

Then spinning on his heels he pelted off through the school gates to join his friends. 

.....

Consumed with seething anger, Carol drove home like a mad woman. Slamming the car into reverse as she parked outside the house.  
Banging the kitchen door shut so hard it rocked the house. 

Standing, gripping the edges of the counter, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. 

_'Fucking little shit._ ' She hissed under her breath. 

Gordon appeared in the doorway. Leaning on the jamb, an expression of concern on his face. 

"What's all the racket?" He asked. "I thought the hounds of hell were after you when you turned into the lane." 

"Nothing I can't handle." She spat. "Coffee?" 

Her husband shrugged. 

"Okay. Just a very quick one." 

She turned on him, still enflamed with rage. 

"When are we having that talk?" She demanded. 

Gordon hesitated, torn between her obvious need to vent, and his work which waited patiently upstairs. 

"Now...." he conceded, "....if you want....." 

"Good!" Her tone was so brusque, so clearly rattled, Gordon was at a loss as to what prompted her outburst.

"Well, I'll start.....Bombshell! I don't want to go back to the Art School." The bluntness stymied him. 

His mouth opened to speak, but no sound came out. 

Watching in silence as she smacked a spoonful of coffee into two mugs and shut the fridge door with a bash. 

"I can't cope with it. For a start there's the workload, and then there's all the other staff who will, by now, know I had a fling with O'Connor and will be gossiping behind my back. I'll not stand it!" 

Moving forwards, he took the steaming cup from her outstretched hand and blew across the surface gently. 

"Carol, you can't make a decision just like that surely! You love your job, it's your passion, it's what drives you. It's what made me fall in love with you, all your wonderful insights and knowledge....." 

As if to distract herself, Carol now began to empty the dishwasher, but each movement was a fierce staccato. A veritable hurricane. A cup slammed here, a plate crashed there. Cutlery hurled into the drawer. 

"Well, not any more! _Slam_. I can't take it Gordon! _Crash_. I don't want the pressure. _Clang_. Notes. Lecturing. Trips away. I don't want it. I want to be here with you. _Smash_. I need quiet to recover. Peace. Not hurly burly!" 

His hands were suddenly laid over hers. Arresting the movement. 

"Carol. Sweetheart.....stop this.....please.....be calm." 

"I can't be calm. I feel pressured, backed into a corner.....I won't have it. I won't." 

Drawing her in, Gordon encircled her, stilling her fury, holding her to his chest. Chin raised, her face against his neck. Speaking soothingly. 

"It's okay darling. If you don't want to go back yet that's fine. No one is backing you into a corner. But it seems so sad to me. Your degree....you worked so hard to earn it. You were so happy at the Art School, it became such an integral part of your life." 

She began a violent volley of weeping. Crying bitterly into his shirt. 

"Now it just seems to hold nothing but bad memories....." 

"Perhaps time is all you really need. In a few months you might well feel differently. Be champing at the bit to get back there." 

Her head shook sadly. Nuzzling closer. 

"I don't think so. I don't think it'll ever be the same for me. Last week I saw they wanted a part time Teaching Assistant with the little ones, at Sean's school. I thought I might apply for it.....I just thought.....a few hours a day.....not too taxing.....I can cope with that....." 

Lifting her head, she looked up at him, her eyes searching his for approval. 

"Are you angry with me? I know the money won't be nearly as good.....but....." 

"Sweetheart, of course not. I told you this morning. I don't care about the money. We'll manage. I just don't want you to throw away what you worked so damn hard for, what you loved so much.....your Art....it's a part of you.....to let it go seems wrong...." 

Reaching up she kissed him tenderly. 

"I _do_ love you." She whispered. "You're so wonderful. Always thinking of me."

"All I want is for you to feel fulfilled. Happy. You always said motherhood wasn't enough, that you wanted your career too. It's why I started working from home, so I'd be around to help, the reason we were able to move down here....away from the city, make our lives....it was our dream.....now somehow everything seems to have changed. I'm finding it difficult to adjust." 

Her fingers caressed the side of his face, moving down, thumb smoothing across his lips. Watching his reaction through lowered lids.  
The little hitch in his breathing. Two rosy patches appearing on each cheek. 

"So sweet." She whispered. "Thank you."

"I must get back to work." His voice carried little conviction, but he gently pulled back. 

"I wanted to talk to you about Sean too....." Following him, her body crowding his. Tone now silky, warm as honey. 

"Oh?" 

"Well, I was thinking about secondary school.....it's not so very far away." 

"He's got over a year yet...."

"Yes. But it goes so fast. Shouldn't we be thinking about his future." 

"Well, I expect he'll go down the road......to the Belmont Academy or St Margaret's RC School, in Ayr.....with all his friends." 

As he spoke her hand continued its meandering path, around his neck, up the back of his head, fingers curled in his hair, then down across his collar bones to the where his shirt was fastened. 

"I was thinking we might find a private school for him......" 

Her husband laughed. 

"You're joking! I can't afford school fees! Have you any idea how much these places cost?" 

"Well.....I had a letter the other day.....from a solicitor in London. It seems Helen left me everything in her Will.......her and Gordon's house is sold, there's quite a bit....." 

"When were you going to tell me all this......?" 

"I've just told you.....now....." 

Slowly, deftly, she began unfastening his top button. 

"I didn't mention it straight away because I wanted to check it was right. But it's one of the reasons why I considered not going back to full time work. We'd be alright without my Art School wage. We could put a bit by, for a holiday perhaps, and we could afford to give Sean the best......I found a really good school.....he'd thrive there....it would be such a wonderful opportunity for him....." 

Sliding her hands inside the gap she'd made as she continued speaking, smoothing them down his skinny chest. Listening to his quickening breathing. Stroking a finger over each of his nipples with such a gentleness that he pushed involuntarily into her hands. 

"Where is this place?" His voice had thickened, as if it might clog his throat. 

"It's called The Lomond School. It's near Loch Lomond.....it's only thirty miles the other side of Glasgow. Small, under 400 pupils. But it's a centre of excellence....with an exemplary record, they'd encourage his art and draughtsmanship. The fees are expensive....but...it would be worth it." 

"But that's a good two hours drive from here. You'd have to go right through the city and out the other side. It's got to be over 80 miles....."

Gordon began to pull back, just as her hands withdrew to rest lightly on his hips, level with his waistband. 

"Well, he'd be a boarding with the other boys. They take up to 40 boarders there....." 

_"WHAT?"_

Her husband stumbled backwards, shaking his head, pushing her hands away roughly. She attempted to grip him by his shirt but he wrenched himself free, clutching his gaping clothes to him as if her touch burned. 

"Send him away you mean? Fuck no Carol! I won't even consider it." 

Carol moved in on him again, her face soft, placatory. Making to draw him close again. 

"But Gordon! Think of the opportunity......we'd have him home every weekend.....and the all the holidays...." 

Seeing the horror of his expression, the chilled whiteness of his skin, she wisely stopped speaking, but it was too late. 

"You're completely fucking _mental_!" He exploded, pointing an accusative index finger. "You'd actually send our son away? Why Carol? Why in God's name would you condemn him to that? An institution! A life surrounded by privileged kids that he has nothing in common with? Separate him from his friends? From us? Christ Almighty! You think to come on to me, make me agree while I'm out of my mind with need, is that it? _Fuck no!_ You'll not manipulate me to that extent.....I might be a pathetic weak milksop who's always hungry for any scrap of affection.....but he's my boy. OUR son. He's everything. I love him completely. He's going nowhere. You hear? Nowhere!" 

Holding his hands up, palms towards her, fending her off, he began to back quickly away. His expression threatening with a distinct _'don't mess with me'_ edge. 

"Now I'm going up to finish my work. So I suggest you keep well away and let me get on with it. Otherwise there'll be no pay packet and no rent money." His eyes were blazing, and he poked a finger towards her chest once more in emphasis. "I'll hear no more of this, do you understand me Carol? No more. You will not separate me from my son! Oh....and I'll believe this fat cheque from your fucking crazy sister when I actually see it....." 

A slap resounded as she hit his face. 

The shock of what she'd done only registered a few seconds later. 

_"DON'T CALL MY SISTER CRAZY."_ She screeched, her expression like a wild harpy. 

Gordon held his stinging cheek, one eye watering involuntarily. 

Suddenly he wasn't sweet desperate little Gordon anymore. Suddenly he was rage and fire and strength. 

"Well, she _WAS_ fucking crazy!" He responded with unbridled fury. "And what's more, you're beginning to act more and more like her.....now please....." he'd reached the door by now, "....please....for the love of God......just go away and leave me the hell alone." 

Turning, he stormed away up the stairs.

Standing still for a few seconds, watching his retreating back. Carol silently fumed. She was about to yell after him, but she knew it was pointless. 

Picking up a stray cup she hurled it against the wall where it smashed into a thousand pieces. 

"FUCK IT!" She screamed.


	14. The Game is Afoot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol is very cross with herself for breaking her own cardinal rules...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More background here and more of 'Carol's' thoughts following her row with Gordon. 
> 
> Please note that whenever I speak of Gordons wife she is always referred to as Carol. When she is thinking to herself she thinks as Carol because, to all intents and purposes that's who she is and who she thinks of herself as.   
> In her mind Helen Reid is dead. She died in the fire. Carol Fleming survived. 
> 
> As far as the murder appeal goes, (there was no appeal in the show) only the fact that a woman comes forward is actually in the programme. The rest is my own invention. 
> 
> As for Sean, his morning conversation with his 'mother' has had a profound effect and he's deeply upset. It cannot be emphasised how difficult it is for Sean to make sense of something that cannot be made sense of.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.  
THE GAME IS AFOOT. 

Carol pulled her collar up beneath her chin against the morning chill as she crunched across the dunes, heading towards her favourite contemplation spot.  
The old petrified log which lay like a beached whale carcass on the strand.

Slowly, the mist was lifting. Warmed by the strengthening sun, wafted by a gathering breeze which blew the pale sand in little eddies around her shoes.  
Seaweed and mermaid's purses had been washed up by the previous tide, lying shrivelled and abandoned beyond high water mark.

Christ! How had she let things escalate to this point? 

Her anger still boiled inside unabated, more at herself than at Gordon. 

She'd broken her own cardinal rule. 

Over time through all her past experiences she had learned valuable lessons. How people worked. Their needs. The way to use that against them.  
What they wanted from her, what to give them of herself in return. She learned that men were most often slaves to their dicks. And that, as an attractive woman, she could exploit the fact. 

Don't show them weakness or vulnerability. Unless it was a ruse to draw them in.  
Never move too quickly. Once an idea was planted in their head, make sure they're convinced it was their own thought, not yours. Never let them too close, and never, ever, let them close to you.  
That way lay madness.  
It always ended in disappointment. 

Seating herself on the smooth white wood, she lit a cigarette, sucked in, then puffed the smoke out though her nose.  
It hung in the air around her before dissipating as she watched. 

Throughout her life it had been the same story. Forever reaching for the unobtainable. Always seeming to view her goals as if through the bars of a cage.  
The bitter disillusionment when finding that a thing so yearned for was in fact a non sequitur. 

Never quite passing muster. Failing to please. 

_'Not quite what we're looking for, my dear.'_

From the moment she finally decided to apply for her adoption records and birth certificate, she discovered just how much had been hidden from her. Chiefly the tragedy of her birth mother, mentally ill and incapable of caring for one child, let alone two.  
The bombshell of finding she had an identical twin answered so many nagging questions. So many things she'd struggled with whilst growing up.  
That feeling of being incomplete. A part of her very being which was apparently missing.  
It filled her with an inner rage, and made her determined to be reunited with her lost sibling. 

Setting out to find her had been a slog. One which had eventually reaped dividends. Once she'd found out the new name her sister had been given, things became easier. 

The lies she'd told to track down her sister. Gaining access to records. Months of digging.  
Until finally....rewards. Against all odds.  
Her name appearing in an Art seminar magazine. As a guest speaker. 

From there it had been child's play.  
The Art School archive. Her weekly schedule. Ringing the main office and being informed she'd left the day before to attend a Renaissance exhibition. 

How fortuitous that Carol happened to travel to London that weekend to visit the National Gallery.  
Just a case of hanging around in the foyer until she appeared. Easily intercepted. 

_'What a coincidence! Fancy meeting you here!'_  
Piece of cake!

Carol recalled that first sighting. A shiver ran through her at the memory even now. 

Uncanny. 

Like looking in the mirror. 

How cruel were the bastards who decided they should be separated? 

Words could never describe them. Nor the contempt she felt. 

Too late for revenge now. Most of those mean old codgers were dead and gone. The pampered big-wigs who sat behind their desks and decided another's future with the stroke of a pen.  
Condemning her to a miserable childhood largely spent in institutions. Unloved and unwanted. 

Whilst they went home to their semi detached little lives with their sweet little woman and their 2.4 children, the car and the holidays and all the trappings of blue collar middle England. Comfortable, fat and full of their own importance. 

Evil. 

That's what they were. 

They'd made her what she was. Shaped and moulded in their image. 

Coming up here to Ayrshire was a revelation. It was as if she'd been here before somehow. Familiar. 

Such a beautiful spot. It called to her on a level she could barely understand. 

Her eyes scanned the horizon now, watching the mists withdraw. A gossamer veil being lifted, revealing the prize beneath.  
The turbulent, sundering sea below a mottled, clouded sky. A strip of purple land floating in the distance. Sea birds calling, as if crying out to her.

 _'Home! You're home!'_

A shiver ran through her frame. 

Tamping out her cigarette in a shower of sparks on the log beside her, she flicked the butt into the air, not caring where it landed. 

An angry tear fell, which she brushed away. She did not cry......well, not when it was real at least.  
Couldn't ever remember having done so.  
Sure she could turn on the waterworks for effect. It worked every time because it was so utterly convincing.  
But real tears?  
Never! 

Wouldn't give them the fucking satisfaction. 

Looking back on the 'correction' she'd endured at Mountbank....and before that, at Daleside. Punishment in not so many words. Downright abuse in others.  
Shut in her room. Denied privileges. Physical correction, dubiously called 'discipline'. A cane to the palm, or the backs of her legs. Being doused with icy cold water. 

She'd endured it all.

Never once had she let them see. They couldn't break her. She was inordinately proud of that fact. 

It was one of the things that pushed the Principal harder. Made the woman hate and maltreat her all the more. The fact that she refused to react. Closing herself off, shutting down. It infuriated the sadistic bitch.  
Making her chastisements all the more brutal. Even drew blood on occasions.  
But she never once cracked before her tormentor nor showed an atom of emotion. 

Wicked cow! 

How she'd wanted to burn the whole fucking place down! 

Her thoughts spiralled full circle. 

Coming back to the first time she'd set eyes on Gordon Fleming. Oh Lord! 

His effect on her had been immediate. Never met anyone like him. She knew at once she had to have him. It was fate. 

That first evening, hearing both Gordon's chatting together. Trying to make sense of having two identical copies of their respective wives.  
_'It's fucking weird! Shall we just get pissed?'_

A giggle came in spite of herself. 

It was obvious straight away that he was the vulnerable sort. His weakness was that he craved affection. A lover not a fighter. One who avoided confrontation, abhorred conflict. Inherently good, kind and honest and therefore easily shaped. Not a bad bone in his body. So different from some of the abusive relationships she'd fallen into in the past. Her own husband not withstanding. 

In the kitchen that same evening she'd even remarked to her sister how handsome he was, how hot, with his lovely eyes, fine features, his soft chestnut hair, beautiful hands and slim build. Her twin had laughed out loud.  
_'Helen! You're terrible! Don't say that!'_

A little bit tiddly. They both were. Nudging each other. Tittering. 

This was the life she'd craved ever since she could remember. With a man such as he. 

A beautiful setting. A lovely home. An attractive, loving partner......and a child. A child? 

That was the one fly in the ointment. 

Had she really factored in the boy? 

Not really. Sean was outside her purview. 

He came as part of the package deal. 

At first she'd found him putty in her hands, building an instant rapport. Winning him over.  
It had given her a falsely inflated sense of her own maternal abilities. That had been her ultimate mistake. 

Allowing her to think she could easily do this. She could be his mother. Love him. Nurture him. She was resourceful, clever, she could turn her hand to anything. How hard could it be? 

Then something changed in his demeanour. 

Looking into those frank, startling green eyes began to make her feel uncomfortable. So disarmingly direct.

As if he could see right through her. 

Perhaps he could! 

Damn him! 

Now he'd forced her hand. Too soon. Made her act before she'd really had time to formulate her plans. 

Worsted by a ten year old boy! 

A crafty brat at that. A wee snivelling ginger runt, a cry baby, daddy's precious little boy. Creeping and sneaky and not to be trusted.

Well, he must not be allowed to interfere with her new found, long sought for idyll. 

Here, in the house by the sea, she had the man of her dreams, her nirvana, and no snot nosed bairn was going to take that away from her. 

She'd played _'mr nice guy_ ', long enough but he'd rejected her advances. Now it was time to show him who's the boss. The gulf had widened inexorably between them.  
But he wouldn't get the better of her.  
Sean Fleming could not be allowed to win. 

That's not how it went. 

Now she would have to stage a major climb down. Grovel to Gordon. Be the contrite, remorseful wife. Penitent, dutiful and subservient. Regain her husband's trust. Show him how truly sorry she was. Do whatever it took to make him believe her repentance. Beg his forgiveness. Show him how much she loved him. She could do that. She'd done it plenty of times before. 

It would not, could not, all be taken away from her on this occasion.  
This was the one time it would all work out fine.  
She and Gordon would be happy ever after.  
There was no competition here.  
He would love her more than his own life.......more than his son. 

She would see to that. 

oOo

 

"Bloody time wasters!" 

The glass door of his office was closed. Shutting out the murmur which hummed outside. 

The entire Station was buzzing. 

Earlier, the uncle of the missing Paisley child, who was, sadly, no longer missing, had been brought in for questioning.  
It was a twist that none had seen coming, their focus being directed mainly on the child's father. 

Sickened to the core. 

The to-ing and fro-ing was silent and purposeful. The whole building subdued by the revelation, but determined to 'do it right'.  
Strictly by the book. Nothing omitted and nothing added either. 

The Chief was adamant. 

All leave was cancelled forthwith, all shoulders to the wheel. 

DS Crowther had the haunted look of a man who slept in a coffin and feared the sunlight. 

Grey and weary. Stubble on his chin. Bags beneath his eyes. 

His feet stretched before him on the desktop, chair tipped back onto two legs precariously. Fingers clasped behind his head. A deep breath in, before rubbing a hand across his tired face.  
A pile of witness statements in front of him.

Rhona Jameson, now on 'temporarily permanent' secondment, was close by. 

"What all of them?" She responded in dismay. 

"That's the trouble with fucking appeals. Brings out all the eejits. People just desperate to help but who know nothing whatever. I just hope that there's something.... however small....I'll take anything I can get right now!" 

Righting his chair onto all four of its legs with a clack, he sat forward, picking up the response sheets. 

"Rhona, I'm trusting you to filter through these, obviously they all have to be followed up but try to decide which seem more promising and which seem totally barking. I'm going to leave it in your capable hands. Then, if there are any that look remotely relevant, we'll go together and conduct some interviews.....sound reasonable?" 

Taking the pile of notes from him she smiled. 

"Leave it to me!" 

_'How can she be so eager?'_ Her superior thought, considering her with a sympathetic gaze. 

He sighed. 

Back in the day, he was once as keen and motivated as she. It made his heart glad to see her set to, not pausing to even grab a bite to eat. 

oOo

Several hours and many phone calls later PC Jameson had made some progress. She also had a splitting headache. 

Contrary to the Detective Sergeant's cynical opinion, there were several definite possibilities amongst those who rang in, in response to the television appeal. 

Knocking lightly, she entered Crowther's office to share her findings. 

She caught him mid yawn. 

"How goes it?" He inquired wearily. Then spotted her hands, which bore a tray. 

"Bacon butty from the canteen, cup of tea and some custard creams.....all they had left I'm afraid....but I figured, better than nothing." Came the cheery response. 

"Christ! Rhona.....seriously, they don't fucking pay you enough.....why aren't you Chief Constable?"

An ironic laugh was all she gave him.

He fell on the food as a starved hound might when cornering the fox. Tearing into it as if he'd not taken nourishment for hours. Which, in fact, was exactly the case.  
Dark circles beneath his eyes, a vampiric pallor, he really did resemble one of the undead. 

"As for the witness appeal, you were right, lots of tossers. But.....in amongst them....I've found some good stuff. It's a matter of straining the nuggets from the dross." 

"Fire away!" Seated now, with a white dusting of flour from the bun all around his chin and lips, and on every finger tip. A cheek full of butty as he wolfed it down. Speaking with his mouth full. Ending with a generous slurp of hot tea. 

The police woman couldn't help but smile, as he swallowed heavily. 

"Well...." she seated herself at his side, ".......there's this one. A woman who saw someone leaving the flats at the time of the murder. Right time frame, fairly good description, certain of her timings and a sensible lady, lives on the floor below but was not at home when police made their initial enquiries....." she flicked the paper aside and turned to another. 

"This one is a from man who saw a drunken guy in the phone box just round the corner from the block, he's sure it was O'Connor, recognised him immediately from the picture we broadcast. Then there's a couple of others, not actually related to the scene itself or the day necessarily, but which I followed up because they were so interesting." 

"Go on." Crowther licked his greasy fingers then looked about him for somewhere to wipe them. He was just considering the front of his coat, when a serviette was thrust unceremoniously into his hand. 

"Thanks love." 

Her reply was a withering look, nothing more, and he gave her an apologetic half smile in return. 

"Sorry. Carry on." 

Rhona placed a third sheet on his desk. 

"This couple were witnesses to an altercation in a coffee shop near the Art School. The day prior to the killing. The man particularly remembered them. It was quite heated and several other customers were looking on.  
He identified the man as Mike, and said the woman he was arguing with had red hair, and they'd both recognise her again. I'm seeing them later today when they finish work." 

"Good job! Maybe we will get somewhere after all." 

"There's more. I almost dismissed it, but my colleague who took the call brought it directly to my attention. This guy is an employee of the B&Q store in Ayr. They have late night opening on a Friday, so that's how he knew it was the same day. A woman came in and bought a large blade kitchen knife. Nothing else, just that. There was just something about her manner and the late hour that made him remember her. So even though he didn't recognise O'Connor, he put two and two together....and well, he apologised profusely if he was wasting our time, but the incident had bothered him, so he thought he'd ring in." 

The phone on the detective's desk suddenly trilled urgently, making them both jump.  
Reaching for it, Crowther barked down the line. 

"DS Crowther?" 

"Nick! Brian here.....I've got some interesting news for you...." 

"Oh?" 

"You'll never guess...." 

"For fucks sake Bri, just tell me will you! I'm too fucking tired to play 'Here we go round the Mulberry Bush'...." 

"Your Fleming case. I've examined the clothes taken from Carol when she was admitted to hospital. I was initially looking for blood stains, hair, all the usual, to compare with those remnants taken from Helen's body." 

"And?" The voice now suddenly eager. 

"We struck lucky." 

"Oh _please_ tell me that something concrete has been found....please tell me I can sleep in my own bed tonight knowing that there is some shred of evidence to work with?" 

"We took samples from beneath the body, where the fabric was more or less intact.....and, well....this will surprise you......both women were dressed in identical clothes." 

"What the fuck?" 

"Yep. Same top, same scarf, same everything....." 

A moments silence. 

"Well." The Detective puffed eventually. "I certainly wasn't expecting that!" 

oOo

The house was silent. Nothing stirring. 

Gordon hadn't seen his wife since he'd left her in the kitchen several hours before. 

His head hurt and his mind was in turmoil. Replaying their conversation over and over in his brain. 

It was after lunch now and his work was almost completed. 

Thank God. 

It was far from his best, but under the circumstances he had to be satisfied with it. Compiling the email and attaching the pdf he pressed 'send' with some relief. 

Wandering downstairs, he half expected to see her sitting in the kitchen, waiting, but there was no sign of her. All was quiet. 

Just then his phone rang in his pocket. 

Mrs Campbell. 

"Hello?" 

"Mr Fleming? It's Pauline Campbell. I have your son here with me at school and he's rather upset. He's asking for you and I wondered if you would come." 

"Of course. I'll leave right away.....what's happened?" 

"I think we'd better have a chat when you get here if that's okay?" 

"Sure. I'll be there in twenty minutes." 

Throwing on a coat and shoes, grabbing car keys from the work top Gordon hurried to leave the house.  
It was then he spied his wife. 

She was walking along the beach some distance away, looking out across the sea. 

His first instinct was to call out to her. 

His second was, _'fuck no, let her stew.'_

In the rear view mirror, he saw her turn as he roared away. Couldn't think about her now, he needed to be with Sean. 

Reaching the school, he hurried to the main reception. 

Breathless as he arrived at the door of the little room set aside in the school as a refuge room. His face white and strained, filled with concern. 

The sight that met him, was his boy, his own, with a pink face and red eyes, fresh from crying. Those same eyes looked at him with apology, with guilt, with so many mixed emotions that his heart was ripped in two. 

"Sean! What is it son? What's happened?" 

Down on his knees on the floor, practically ignoring Mrs Campbell, who remained seated and quiet, as the child was pulled into the strongest embrace and held there tight.  
She watched as the youngster broke yet again. Gordon's face buried into his little neck. His own eyes screwed up and struggling to hold on. 

"Dad....I'm so sorry.....so sorry.....I know you've got to work today.....and you've got mum....I told them not to call you......" 

Pulling back and holding him at arms length, the father spoke earnestly, gaze fixed lovingly on his wee lad. 

"Never mind all that. It's you that's more important. Whatever's happened? Please tell me." 

A floodgate opened. Tumbling out. Flurry of words amid copious tears. 

"Everything's different Dad, and I don't know why. Everyone here treats me different since the fire....all the teachers, my friends, everyone. I don't know what's happened, I try to be the same as I was before but it doesn't work. Mum's different, you're different.....it's like I fell asleep and woke up somewhere else. Everyone looks the same as they've always done but none of them know me. I hate it Dad, I want to go back to how it was before Auntie Helen came. I know it wasn't great then, but it's better than this." 

He broke into a fresh round of sobbing. Clinging to Gordon's neck. The feel of his brushed cotton shirt so familiar beneath the pink cheek, his dad's scent filling his nostrils, making him feel so secure. 

Glancing up, he caught the expression on Pauline's face, irrepressibly sad, compassionate, empathetic, shaking her head ruefully. 

"Mr Fleming, Sean has been finding it very difficult to cope since you've moved into the rented house. His whole world has been turned upside down. He's said as much to me in our sessions. I'm not sure what sparked this outburst this morning, but he was distressed from the word go....fortunately he had the presence of mind to ask his teacher to contact me. I came straight away. When I got here he was almost imploding under the weight of his suppressed feelings.  
He's only young and he doesn't know how to process it all.....it's been painful to witness." 

"It's alright son. It's alright. I'm here. I'm here." Parent and child clasped each other tight. It was difficult to ascertain which one needed the hug most. 

Somehow they both seemed equally lost to the eye of the professional. 

"It's been a bit of a nightmare." He confessed. "My wife has been struggling since coming out of hospital....losing the sister was like losing part of herself. The doctors warned me she'd have moments where the enormity of what happened might overwhelm her. Monaghan also intimated she might take on traits of that dead sibling.  
At times she's fine, at others she's a stranger. It's been very tough for me as well as for Sean here.  
She says things, does things, that are out of character.....Christ! I look at her sometimes.....and I wonder....." 

His face seemed to glaze over, becoming a mask, detached and sorrowful. Unreadable. Then the mist appeared to lift and he snapped back to himself. 

".....but I realise it's just the post traumatic stress, the loss, the powerful connection they must have had, it's all rather baffling. Carol and I had our ups and downs before Helen turned up, Sean knows that, but it's like we're starting all over again...." 

He renewed his embrace to his son, pulling him into his chest. 

".....for both of us." 

"Perhaps the three of you would all benefit from having a professional person to speak to. It might help you all with the process. Particularly your wife. I urge you to consider it. She may well not be thinking rationally at the moment, she may well be finding it difficult to separate herself from her sibling. Twins have a unique bond, one that is still only partially understood. I'm so sorry this has happened to you Mr Fleming, Sean....but there is help available. There are things we can do." 

"Gordon." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"My name's Gordon. You don't have to call me Mr Fleming." His words were wistful, almost an entreaty.  
Rising to his feet, holding Sean's hand in his own. 

"Gordon then." She replied with a smile. 

"Come on mate." Looking down at the still sniffling boy. "Let's take you home. We'll talk to Mum. See if we can't thrash this out between us....there's no need to be afraid....you've got me....always.....understand? Always." 

Sean nodded his carroty head, wiping his nose with the back of his other hand. He seemed relieved, but terribly nervous still. 

"Don't hesitate to call....if you need me okay?" The counsellor opened the door. " And Sean, you did the right thing asking for me, if you feel like this again, then do the same thing. I'll always come. We can come in here and you know you are safe, yes?" 

The child nodded again. 

"Thank you Mrs Campbell." Gordon looked so grateful. So utterly devastated by this unexpected chain of events. 

"Since we are doing first names, please call me Pauline." She answered with a smile. " You can always contact me too, with any concerns. You have my number." 

The two adults shook right hands warmly. Sean, not relinquishing the other. Still clinging on tight. 

She watched them walk away. Close. But she remained deeply troubled. 

For both of them.


	15. Slowly but Surely.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our intrepid police force are gathering evidence.....but is any of it useful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically Crowther and Jameson following up leads that come in as a result of the media appeal.  
> It's a long day!!
> 
> Some information, like the woman coming forward, the coffee shop scene and the words spoken by Mike on the answer machine are taken from the programme.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.  
SLOWLY BUT SURELY.

After a good nights sleep and his wife's cottage pie with mashed neeps, Nick Crowther was feeling human again.  
A shower, shave and clean clothes worked wonders too. 

Seated before him in the interview room was the first of Rhona's witnesses. A certain Miss Tania Hubbard. 

A steaming plastic cup of builders tea on the table before her. 

"Just go through carefully everything you can remember. Doesn't matter how small or insignificant, just throw it all in there and we'll see if we can make sense of it, and thank you so much for taking the trouble to ring in. We appreciate it." 

"Well I know exactly which night it was because I'd been out with friends. One of whom was coming on to me, he was belligerent, drunk and he was a complete moron so I decided to call it a night early." 

Rhona, who was sitting in with her boss, nodded along in sympathetic solidarity. 

"Boy! We've all had nights like _those_." She confirmed. 

"I got back at 11pm. I actually passed her on the stairs. Coming down." 

"And you live on the floor below?" 

"Yes. Directly underneath Mike." 

"What can you remember of her?" 

The woman glanced around the bare slate grey walls is if looking for inspiration. 

There was none.

"Er....well, she was fairly tall. Taller than me at any rate. So I'd say 5'6" maybe even a tad more." 

"And you're sure it was a 'she'?" 

"Definitely. No question. She was slim build with a long blue mac pulled in tight at the waist, with the belt tied in a knot, not fastened with the belt loops. Her feet were small, ankle boots with a low heel." 

"That's brilliant. Anything else." 

"The stairwell is fairly dark, and she kept her head well down, she was hurrying. It's one of the reasons I noticed her so particularly. Mainly, if you pass someone on the stairs in our block they'd make eye contact, but this woman avoided it. But I saw her face clearly enough. Her hands were stuffed into the deep pockets of the coat." 

"What about her hair colour?" 

"She was wearing a beret thing. Black wool. It covered her hair almost completely. You couldn't really tell what colour it was, only by the ends at the back which were dark. She wasn't blonde, I could tell that, but might have been brunette, it was too dark to see. But she had a very pale complexion. Her nose and chin were quiet fair, white even...so she could have been a redhead.....oh and there was a black leather handbag hanging over her forearm." 

"How big?" 

"About a foot long or so, it had a front flap which fastened with a circular metal clip, maybe eight or nine inches deep, on a short strap, not a shoulder jobby. That's about it I think. Sorry I can't be more specific." 

"You've been a great help." 

oOo

Jim McNee was incredibly tall. At least 6'6". Towering above the police officers. He entered with a sheepish glance as if he'd been caught scrumping apples and was in for a whupping. 

A gentle giant, with a Gaelic lilt to his voice which spoke of the Hebrides. 

"Aye. He came out of the phone booth, just on the corner of Renfrew Street. Pished as a rat he was, could barely stand. And he was greetin' fit to bust. I almost stopped to ask if he was okay, but then thought better of it." 

"Crying?" 

"Yeah. Sobbing like a wee wean." 

"Did you see anyone else in the vicinity, did he talk to anyone?" 

"Not that I saw. He just ambled off up the hill. Keys in his hand. Muttering something about _'his Carol_ '."

"His Carol?"

"Yeah. That's what he said, plus a lot of other unrequited lovey-dovey gibberish. I didn't really pay much attention after that." 

...

 _Later.......over sandwiches....._.

Rhona took her seat opposite the Detective Sergeant and munched on a tasteless chicken wrap.  
She voiced what they were both thinking. 

"Do you think he rang the Fleming house? Do you think he made some threat perhaps, or was being a pain in the arse? I was thinking that it could be the reason why she left home later that evening, went to his place and finished him off.....I mean.....he opened the door to whomever it was and went out onto the landing. It must have been someone he knew rather than a random...." 

Crowther chewed thoughtfully. 

"Wonder if anything came out of that tape in the Fleming's answer machine? That'd be fucking useful wouldn't it? Think I'll give Bri a ring later." 

oOo

Speeding down the A77. 

Just to the south of Kilmarnock. 

The silence between them was deafening. 

Nick drove as if he were on a seaside outing. Meticulous. Exact. By the manual. Much as he did everything really. 

Rhona found it difficult to define their relationship. They were work colleagues of course, but there was more to it than that. She really knew very little about what made him tick, but she felt sure that, in a tight spot, DS Crowther would have her back. Her own feelings were similar. As her superior officer they maintained a certain distance, as decorum demanded, but there was something unspoken which seemed to resonate. A symbiosis. Two like minds meeting and finding a connection.  
They cared. Both for their job and each other. Simple as that. 

"You okay?" She asked eventually, when the lack of interaction began to pall. 

"Fine." He replied sharply. When clearly he wasn't. 

Rhona took to staring blankly from the passenger window. The hills, the villages, the abandoned farm buildings, flashing past in a wink of an eye.  
Blurring into one greeny brown haze as they passed.  
A leaden weariness settled upon her which she could not explain. It seemed to bear down like a ton weight. Resting on the top of her head. Several moments and miles sailed by. 

After some minutes elapsed, she spoke again. 

"It's alright. You don't have to say if you don't want. I understand." 

Silence. 

"I need to spend a weekend at hame." Out of the blue. His voice was wistful. Filled with longing. 

She considered before formulating her reply. 

"Your wife must get fed up....being married to 'The Police Force'." She eventually responded, emphasising the last words with wagging fingers held aloft, to imitate speech marks, before stifling a cavernous yawn, as the soporific warmth inside the car seemed to seep into her very pores. 

Her belly rumbled insistently like a drain pipe. 

"She's a fucking saint." Ignoring the grumbling of her gut. Matter of fact. A statement of truth, but one which rankled, it was obvious. 

"But you do good work. WE do good work. We matter, we make a difference. She knows that." 

Was she trying to convincing him....or herself?

Silence. 

Slowing down for traffic lights, the red a fuzzy indistinct circle through the windscreen. It began to rain suddenly. The overhead clouds spilling their moisture with abandon. A murky depressing dun coloured expanse of sky before them.  
Battering against the wipers like a bucket being emptied. Condensation gathering on the inside. 

"Turn the blowers on." Crowther intoned dully. An order rather than a request. 

Leaning forward she fiddled with dials and knobs until a satisfying blast of cool air blew through the interior. Melting away the water droplets as if by sorcery. 

"They deserve the bloody truth." This statement was uttered as if to the world in general. 

"Beg pardon sir?" 

"That gullible husband....and the boy. They deserve to know.......it's up to us to dig up the shite." 

A protracted sigh left her as she considered his words. Squinting ahead now as the lorry they were following spewed out gusts of dirty rainwater which hit them in almost rhythmic waves. The wipers now sweeping faster in an effort to keep their vision ahead clear. 

"I don't think he's gullible. I think he's scared. Afraid to face what might be the truth. You think it's true then? Helen. She's swapped with her sister. Killed her, taken her place." 

Reaching forward to the dashboard her boss switched on the headlights. Even though it was far from dark. 

"Fucking weather." He stated, as if this were just another minor thing sent to try him. 

"I think so too." She muttered, not waiting for his reply. "I think Douglas Monaghan had it right from the very start. He's so sure. 100%. He knew Carol Fleming pretty well. I just wish we had something concrete to prove it. So much is circumstantial, she's been so bloody careful. Covered her tracks, she's clever, there's no doubt of that. Believable too. Utterly compelling. There must be something she's missed. Some mistake she's made.....somewhere." 

Waiting patiently at a railway crossing, Crowther peered into the turgid gloom. Barriers lowered. Klaxon sounding. Warning lights flashing.  
After a few moments a goods train lumbered through. Carriage after carriage. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. Containers, freight. Huge rectangular steel boxes, full of goodness knows what. 

"Oh, never fear Rhona. They all make mistakes. There's no such thing as the perfect crime. I'm going to get her. One way or another. No matter what it takes." 

His eyes flicked from side to side as he watched the passing railcars. Mesmerising in their uniformity. 

Slowly the mechanised gates swung open and the vehicles were allowed through once more. Rumbling over the metal of the rails. Like driving over a sheet of corrugated iron. 

"The good thing is, she thinks she's home and dry. That's the way I want to keep it. Let her think everything is cut and dried. Give her just enough doubt to get her worried, but lull her into thinking she's secure in her comfortable little utopia, the hubby, the kiddywinkie, the wee love nest......then BAM!" He hit the steering wheel hard, making his passenger jump in her seat. "Then we pull the rug out from under her. Hit her with the facts. That's why I won't make the mistake of pouncing too soon. I want to make absolutely sure we've got her. Banged to rights." 

"Hey.....Skip.....there's a Maccy D's up ahead! Seriously! I'd actually trample my own granny for a Big Mac right now....and one of those thick strawberry shakes that if more than two people suck on their straws simultaneously, the windows of the diner implode....." 

Laughing heartily, the detective slammed on the indicator and turned off onto the slip road. 

oOo

Ayr's B&Q hardware store was much like any other to be found more or less anywhere in the United Kingdom. A generic blue print. Countrywide.  
Aisle after aisle of DIY goodies; paints and wallpapers, locks and screwdrivers, nuts and bolts, tiles and light bulbs.  
The home handyman's (or woman's) dream. 

It was not long before the police officers were upstairs in a rather dingy back office in the company of Branch Manager Lewis Hamilton....no, not _that_ Lewis Hamilton....the Celtic version of him, tall, wiry and decidedly ginger.  
Crowded around the flickering monitor, as the observant and extremely competent young man reeled the footage forwards.  
"Here she is!" He cried triumphantly. "She's almost running....as it's about ten minutes before the store closes at 9pm."

The three peered closely at the screen, picking out the various customers as they trawled the aisles. Some with trolleys, some without.  
Walking briskly amongst them, was a tallish woman in a blue mac, tied at the waist. Carrying a black handbag. No headgear as yet. A highly visible shock of flaming red hair.  
Looking from side to side furtively, and at one point directly at the camera, as if making sure she was not being observed, before choosing her rapid purchase and heading straight for the checkouts. Hamilton paused the frame at the moment the woman looked up. 

"Christ!" Crowther breathed. "That's her! Well done Mr Hamilton.....I could fucking kiss you!" 

The employee coloured. 

"That won't be necessary!" He laughed. "I just thought it was so damn odd. I mean, a woman just walks in off the street and buys a bloody great carving knife....it's not like.... _'hey honey, my kitchen knife has broken, I must rush out immediately and buy a new one_ ' is it? I mean....who does that? Then when I heard about this stabbing.....I kinda wondered....as you do....I suppose." 

"Well, we are most glad you wondered sir." Rhona reiterated, receiving and signing a form for possession of the recording.

As the pair headed back to the car, PC Jameson voiced what they were both thinking. 

"Is it Carol or is it Helen though?"

"No way of telling...." Came the reply, ".....but if it is Helen Reid that's shacked up at the Fleming house, this ain't half gonna put the wind up her chuff."

His female colleague could not disguise her amusement, try as she might. 

oOo

Last call at the end of this very long day was to the couple from the cafe. 

Over a welcome restorative tea and biscuits, they conducted a brief interview. 

"Now, firstly, thank you for taking the trouble to ring in." The four shook hands cordially. 

"We recognised him straight away, when we saw the appeal. We'd know the woman again too, quite striking...."

The wife took up the tale.

".....she, the woman, was already sitting in a booth. She was directly opposite us. The guy seemed to spot her from outside and came straight in. He slid into the seat across from her. At first she appeared not to recognise him, then there was a hushed conversation which I couldn't catch.  
But I heard him tell her he missed her and he loved her. Then she replied something about her marriage being good and that she loved her husband....it kinda got louder as it went on. People started to stare. It ended when she rose, told him to stay away....then shouted it pretty loud before storming out. ' _Stay away!_ ' Like that.  
That's it, pretty much. It was definitely him though, we're certain." 

Having ascertained that the two would come to the station the following morning to look at some identification photos, Nick and Rhona decided to call it a day.

oOo

Only a few stragglers remained at the Station when DS Crowther and PC Jameson returned to the City. 

The phones were quiet, the desks deserted. Most of the offices in darkness. 

It was after 11. 

"You'd best get on home love." 

Unfastening his coat, the detective entered his own room, with the idea of going over the statements one more time. 

"You're sure? What are you going to do?" She followed him inside, reluctant to knock off herself if he was in for the long haul. 

A circle of light from the arc lamp illuminated his tired face. 

"Hold on! What's this?" 

She spotted something on his desk, just as he did. A small package addressed in thick black sharpie. 

_'Nick! All we could get from the Fleming answer machine. Make of it what you will. Bri._ ' 

Tearing open the envelope he found a disc inside, which he inserted into his computer. Firing it up and sinking into his chair to listen. 

The recorded message kicking in. 

_"You have. One. Message. Received on. Friday, at 8.03pm."_

A long strangled bleep. 

Scratchy and less than distinct, a drunken voice slurred. 

_"Carol? It's Mike. Listen, I know I'm not meant to call you but your mobile's switched off. I want to speak to Gordon. Gordon needs to know what's been going on. I have to talk to Gordon......"_

The audio cut off abruptly. 

The two police officers looked at each other. 

"Fucking hell!" Rhona breathed. 

"That's 45 minutes before she's seen in B&Q......" 

Crowther considered, rubbing his face with both hands. 

"But if she picked up the message, how come Gordon never heard it?" 

His colleague hesitated, trying to think. 

"We don't know which sister picked up the message though....do we? For all we know it was Helen, perhaps Carol and Gordon were sitting watching telly all warm and cozy, oblivious to all.....she could have heard it, removed the tape, left there and went to perforate his guts for him...." 

"So could Carol for that matter.....we don't know for certain it was Helen. Carol could just as easily have done exactly the same thing.....after all, she was very anxious to keep her affair from her husband, wasn't she?" 

Crowther gave a wide yawn. 

"But wouldn't Gordon be aware? If Carol suddenly fucked off in the middle of the evening I mean?  
You know what? _I'm_ going to fuck off HOME. I've had enough of this case for today....in fact I've had enough of this day altogether. I'll come at it with fresh eyes in the morning.....I suggest you do the same." 

The yawn was catching, Rhona soon followed suit. 

"Good idea!" She stretched herself. "Night then Skip. I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Good work today Constable! Very good work indeed." 

The Policewoman beamed with obvious pleasure. 

"Thank you sir. Goodnight."


	16. Truce.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow Carol manages to wangle her way back into Gordon's affections.
> 
> Sean sees the way the wind is blowing and begins to make plans of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot in this chapter about how the main characters are feeling but don't express.  
> Particularly Sean who is not really able to confide in either of his parents. As time passes he is becoming more and more secretive. 
> 
> As for Gordon and Carol, he has at least shown some strength. Enough to make his wife at least rein herself in a little for fear of losing him.   
> Although they end up in bed, there is a subtle change there. This is the beginning of an alteration in their relationship which will become clearer later.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.  
TRUCE. 

By the time father and son left the school it was already dusk. 

The coast road was quiet and lonely at this time of day. The dark expanse of the sea on one side, a black inky void away to the right. The hills to the left fading slowly but surely into the oncoming night. 

Sean was silent. 

Watching the beams from the car headlights as they showed the road ahead. A white dashed line down the centre, mesmerising in its repetition, a vague hedge and bank at the periphery of his vision .  
Occasionally some unrecognised creature would scuttle from the tarmac into the undergrowth and vanish. A rabbit perhaps, or a mouse. 

"It'll be okay Sean." 

His dad seemed to know what he was thinking. 

"We'll sort it." 

For some reason he felt suddenly very weary. The overwhelming emotion draining the life from him.  
Forehead resting on the cold glass of the passenger window, his eyelids began to droop.  
Lulled by the sound of the engine, the warmth from the car's heater.  
Down and down. Drifting. Worn out by it all. 

Gordon wasn't sure what would await them on their return home, but whatever it was he was ready. 

His son did not stir as he parked outside on the driveway. 

Slumbering deeply. Breathing even and regular. 

Lifting him out, his father carried him inside. Straight through the kitchen, where his wife waited. Anxiously smoking a cigarette. The smell of casserole filled the room. 

She rose as he entered, tamping out the butt and making to come towards him. 

"Gordon....I....." 

"Shhh!" She was summarily dismissed with a sharp glare. 

So, this is how it would be.

Watching, holding the banister rail, as he climbed slowly up, bearing his slumbering burden. Not following. Remaining still. Patient and penitent. 

Up to the landing and into his little room, Gordon placed the boy gently in his own wee bed. Kissed his forehead, tucked Freddo in next to him, then turned to face whatever it was he was to face. 

Hysterics wouldn't wash with him, he'd already decided that. As he descended she still waited there, in the hallway. Looking up. 

Her eyes wet, a pleading look in them, as he brushed past her, reentered the kitchen, crossing straight to the kettle. His wife trailed behind like a scolded dog. Jittery. Uncertain of her reception, as he remained mute. Keeping her guessing. Wringing her hands, she finally tried to speak to him. 

"Gordon. Please." 

She moved in close behind him. One hand laid tentatively on his forearm. 

"I'm sorry." 

Holding back from actually breaking down, her expression so contrite, he almost felt pity. Almost. 

"How is he?" 

Retaining an aloof, yet perfectly calm exterior, her husband held her gaze steadily, unflinching. 

"He's completely done in. He's carrying this huge weight around with him all the time. He's scared and he doesn't know how to express it. And you want to send him away? I don't believe it of you Carol. You're not the Carol I know....knew.....you're changed. In fact I don't think I know you any more." 

Shaking her red head in anguish, her fingers clutched his arm tighter. 

"Oh darling no, no! You completely misunderstood me. Took it the wrong way entirely. You're making me out to be a villain, and I'm not. I was thinking of him, whatever you think. Our son. His future....." 

"Were you?" 

Never had she seen his mien so cold. So detached. She mustn't lose him.  
It was essential to regain her standing. 

"Seemed to me like you were anxious to be rid of him......" 

Her eyes widened. Bordering on hysteria. Then narrowed as they filled with the glint of malice.

"That's NOT true! How can you say that?" She hissed venomously. "How can you think I'd be so wicked?" 

"Hush yourself!" He spoke with a low growl, glancing towards the stairs. "Keep your damn voice down!"

Obeying immediately, she tuned down to barely a whisper. 

"He's a quiet boy, shy. But he's bright, I thought a school like that would bring out the best in him. Help him to mix with his peers, make friends......that's all.....sending him away wasn't why I suggested it.....I thought it would be good for him, for his development, his character and independence......you make me sound like I'm condemning him to penury in an institution." 

Gordon pulled away from her pawing grip. Standing clear of her, his own hands stretched to the sides, clinging to the counter top. 

His tone was commanding. It sent a thrill right to her core. 

"I won't hear any more of this. Do you hear?" Voice remaining even and calm, although he bubbled beneath the surface.

"Yes Gordon." Quailing at his imperative words, humbling herself beneath the authoritative gaze, she cast her eyes down. 

"You forget it. Okay? Stop your fucking scheming....Sean will do just fine at one of the State schools down the road." 

He huffed with a great frustration, barely held in, like a cork in a champagne bottle when the wire cage is removed, pressure building.

"Before the fire....before _Helen_...." he spat the name almost as though it were cursed....." we made plans. You and I. We moved here, the quiet life you wanted, we made sacrifices. It was all going to be so wonderful. Then it started to change, to fall apart. Don't ask me why. It was probably my fault. You spending more time in Glasgow, me here on my own...." 

"It wasn't your fault....." Her response rapid, eyes watering, welling up, brimming. 

Her hand came up to stroke his cheek delicately, still shaking her head from side to side, tears falling freely now, dripping from the end of her nose. 

".....I lost my way Gordon.....I admit it.....I was going to leave you. Then when Helen showed up I realised I wanted you more than ever..... because I love you.....so very much...." 

From beneath heavy lidded eyes he looked down at her, imperious, continuing almost as if her words had missed their mark. 

"....I started to feel shut out. Like you had a whole other life apart from me. I was jealous of that life. I'm not afraid to confess it. So I turned in on myself, shutting everything out. That's why I was drawn towards your sister....she reminded me of what I was missing....what we once had but no longer shared. I was frustrated and lonely.....she was there.....you weren't....." 

He was beginning to falter in response to her caress. Weakening. His words losing their bite. 

From inside his chest there came a jerk, the first of a pulsing burst of feeling. He fought it valiantly. 

"Christ! _You!_ You.....and Sean.....you're all I ever wanted......don't you understand? That boy is my reason for rising in the morning.....having him and waking up next to you, your head on the pillow next to mine.....loving you both. You remember the fire between us when we met.....the passion from which he was created? That's my life blood Carol. Don't take that away from me, for the love of God! Please don't." 

The lid came off then. 

Dissolving into strangled sobs. The tide turned. 

Gently she pulled his head down until it rested on her shoulder. She could feel his wet nose nuzzled into her neck. Sense the ripples of emotion as they passed from his body to hers.  
Shoulders rising and falling, sternum lifting and sinking against her breast. His arms gradually enveloping her, right around her back, crossing over themselves where they met. So tight. A tremor in his thigh muscles, right down to his shoes, as he broke. 

"Oh my darling." Her lips almost touched the shell of his ear as she whispered to him. "I love you more than life. I would never knowingly do anything to hurt you. Please believe me." 

Pulling back, she looked into his face. 

"Come.....come with me...." it was an invitation, seductive, sweet, one which he could not easily refuse. 

"Gordon.....darling, come.....please......" She beseeched him. Gentle persuasion. 

Relinquishing his grip, she took his hands, guiding him deftly towards the stairs. 

Neither one noticed the slight flash of movement from behind the kitchen door, as two little feet scurried back to his bedroom and snuck in beneath the covers. 

Allowing himself to be led. Not questioning. Trusting implicitly. 

Reaching their bedroom. Closing the door quietly behind her. 

He stood, trembling, as she slowly began to undress him. Buttons, belt, fly.  
Kissing and caressing him all the while. No resistance. His now rigid manhood tightly held in by his clothes.  
Exposing him she hummed with pleasure at the sight, but refrained from touch, knowing it was what he hoped for.

"Oh _Gordon!_ " 

Stepping back instead, she began to divest herself of her own clothes for his delectation, but she performed the ritual in the most sensual way. Exposing first a shoulder, then giving a peak of breast. Letting her skirt fall. Fingers gliding down inside the lace of her knickers to caress herself, as he watched avidly, eyes growing wider as lust completely took over.  
Now she was pressed against him. Skin to skin. Softer than velvet and more enticing than he could possibly imagine. 

"We belong to each other Gordon darling. I love you. You love me. The passion hasn't gone. It's right here, right now." 

Like being bathed in liquid honey, her hand slid down his torso, making him gasp. Pushing forwards into her palm. Legs buckling beneath him.  
Easing him back onto the bed until he rested amongst the pillows, climbing on top to straddle his body. her favourite position. Taking control. His hardness right there between her legs.  
Leaning forwards over him she began a path of tender kisses, as the whimper of tears turned to the moans of desire. 

"Tie me." He murmured. "Please, Carol." 

A little smile as she did his bidding. Binding his wrists, before placing his arms above his head. 

With a sigh she felt him surrender, eyes glazed over as the bliss washed over him. 

She had won. He was hers again. But she needed him to confirm it, just to be absolutely sure. 

"Do you forgive me?" She urged him, her lips closing over his, teasing him to open for her before thrusting her tongue deep into his mouth. Shifting higher onto her haunches to take him inside her at the same time. 

Doubly arousing. 

Warm moist mouths sealed together, the sensation of being penetrated by her.

Whilst below, equally hot and wet, the slight tightness as he was completely engulfed. 

Short, tight breaths, as the erotic stimulation short circuited his brain, a tingle coursing through every vein. 

She stilled then, sitting up, pressing his chest down with her hands. Eyeing him. Waiting in expectation for his reply as he panted helplessly beneath her.

"I forgive you Carol.....please." 

Begging was always appropriate, and oh how it turned her on!" 

With great precision she began to rise and fall over him, lifting herself high without unsheathing him, then sinking back down, giving him the full sensation of being taken by her, whilst pleasuring herself at the same time. 

"Ahh!" A muffled croak as she sat herself more upright, adjusting the angle of penetration, looking down at his still glistening lips, left plump and full from her plunder as she'd pulled away.  
God! How she loved that sensual mouth! 

Riding now. Rhythmic. Head thrown back as she enjoyed his full length. 

"Are you mine?" She whispered thickly, as her breath quickened. 

"I'm yours." He hissed through clenched teeth, as he came suddenly. Those words alone enough to push him over the edge.

"Again!" Dictating now. Milking him for every last ounce. 

"Oh God! I'm yours Carol." 

The strength of his pulsing matched only by the strength of his renewed tears. 

Only then did she take pity on him. Once he was empty and spent and weeping softly from the afterburn. 

Laying herself along his damp chest. Still buried inside her, she held him close, cooing to him, hushing his mouth with more kisses. 

"It's alright Gordon. It's alright. I'm sorry I upset you. No more talk of Sean going away to school. We'll do whatever you say. Whatever _you_ decide. Alright my darling?" 

No verbal answer came, just his bound hands coming down and surrounding her, holding her to him as his fire began to dwindle and fade.  
Easing down as she slid apart from him. Nestling into his side.  
The wetness between them unnoticed as they clung to each other. 

Everything would be alright. Everything was just as it should be. 

oOo

Gordon Fleming woke to a beam of sunlight which peeped in through the curtain, a shaft of yellow shining across the bed.  
His wife yawned and stirred, snuggling in under the arm he raised for her. Copper head resting on his chest.  
A sigh of contentment. 

These were the blesséd moments. The ones he'd missed the most. 

From the room next door he could hear Sean already up and about, even though it was still early and this was the half term week. 

This week also heralded the prospect of new work. A lucrative commission for a political satire show on STV. Ideas were teeming in his head and he was anxious to commit some preliminary sketches to paper. 

By the time Sean appeared downstairs Gordon was already in the kitchen, grilling bacon, whilst his wife showered. 

He turned to find his son standing in the doorway, looking flushed and not a little sheepish. 

"What's up?" He enquired, waving the spatula he was holding. 

"Going to meet Angus. Play footy on the old green." 

Gordon knew that the 'old green' was in the village on the edge of which their burned out house was situated. It was also where Sean's best friend lived. Adjacent to the little shop and post office. 

"How are you getting there?" 

"Bus." Shifting from one foot to the other, it appeared the child could not look his father in the eye.

"Do you need the fare?" 

"No. Got my pass." 

His replies were quick fire, almost as if rehearsed. 

"Have you eaten breakfast?" 

"Angus said his mum will do us a fry up.....can I go now dad?" 

Gordon regarded his son with a protectively paternal air. 

"You may.....but....." he added, as Sean made to turn and dash away. ".....if it's late when you're ready to come home you call me okay? You're not to come home on the bus in the dark. I'll come and fetch you from Angus's place." 

The boy shrugged, looking relieved. 

"Okay. Bye Dad." 

His father smiled, shaking his head indulgently as he watched his son's small carroty head disappear down the path at a sprint. A large, heavy looking rucksack bouncing on his back. 

oOo

Sean Fleming had set his alarm early. He needed to be up and about to begin to put his carefully laid plans into action. 

Even though he was young he knew the way the tide was turning. He could sense it as well as see it. 

Last night his fears were finally confirmed.

Therefore he had to be ready. 

Part one of his plan was to procure enough money. He would at least need train fares, food and perhaps even a place to stay, although he hadn't really thought that far ahead. 

Exhibit one: his dad's penny pot. 

His father had a jar in the hall. Each evening he would empty the loose change from his pockets into it.  
About twice a year this money would be counted out. Sean would always help. Little piles of coin placed into plastic bank bags and changed up. Last time there had been over fifty pounds.  
Fortunately, at the moment, it was quite full. Therefore it would be unlucky that any amount removed would be spotted. 

For a while now, Sean had been stealing small sums from it. 50p pieces, 20p's. The odd £1 coin. The tuck shop at school were always glad of the change.  
He now had a sizeable stash of notes.  
He hoped it would be enough. 

The sun was higher now, but the day promised to be a typical Scottish one. It was quite usual, especially in May, to experience all four seasons in the course of a day. Warm sunshine. Torrential rain. Even hail or sleet.  
Zipping his coat to the neck, he shouldered the backpack as the bus lumbered around the corner. 

This road was such a familiar stretch. He travelled it most days, going one way to school and back if neither of his parents were giving him a lift, the other way to return to his home village.  
It was this way he travelled today. The Ayrshire coast road towards Stranraer. Grey sea away to his right, heather strewn hills to the left. 

Jumping down at the stop near the wee shop. 

Running along the row of squat friendly houses, neither glancing this way or that. Focussed on his goal. 

Up the deeply cut lane which lead to his home. 

The police crime scene tape was gone now. Only a tattered remnant blew forlornly in the fresh breeze off the bay.

Scaffolding had been erected all around the house. Making it look like a real life Meccano set. 

A white painter and decorators van was parked on the drive.  
Plasterers in overalls were moving briskly to and fro, one outside mixing a large bucket of pink gloop with what looked like a drill with a long bit attached, resembling a giant food mixer.  
He was chubby and bald and had a cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth. 

Next to that was another, larger vehicle. 'Halliday Double Glazing'. Inside it two young men, scoffing sandwiches, radio blaring forth. 

No one saw Sean. They'd have taken little notice if they had. 

Keeping well out of sight, however, he snuck around the back to the shed. In a flash he was inside. Breathing hard and fast. 

The place had developed a damp, rather unloved odour. But he hardly noticed. 

From inside the rucksack he produced his treasures. Secreting them in his hidey-hole. 

The wad of money. A toothbrush. Some clothes. He laid them carefully atop the photo albums which were already hidden there.  
He'd also included items of significant meaning to himself. 

A postcard his mother had sent from one of her London exhibition trips. Carefully wrapped in tissue.

_'Missing you so much, can't wait to get back. Saw this and thought of you! All my love Mum xxxx'._

It was a picture of a painting, by Karl Heinrich Hoff II, of a red headed boy with freckles. Just like himself. He loved it.

Also two books, given as presents, annotated separately by both his mum and dad. Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe. The perfect gifts for a child with a vivid imagination such as he, who loved to read.  
His favourite adventure stories. 

There were some beautiful seashells which he and his parents had picked up on the shore. His mother had helped him paint them. An afternoon spent where he felt safe, and loved, and wanted. 

Not essentials for survival by any means, but he couldn't bear to leave them behind. 

Tears came. 

Trying to tell himself. 

_'This was only a contingency plan. It may not come to fruition. Perhaps everything would turn out alright.'_

But even as he had these hopeful thoughts, he knew he was kidding himself. 

Unable to bring himself to leave, Sean stayed in his den for the rest of the day. Eating the snacks he'd carried with him, drinking from his water bottle. Comfortable in these secure surroundings. 

He must have fallen asleep. Overwrought as he was. Full of fear and emotion. 

When he woke it was in a panic, the sun sinking low in the western sky, dusk was falling. 

Running out, down the lane, retracing his steps from that morning, he phoned his dad. 

"There you are! I was wondering when you'd call!" 

"Don't come to Angus's house, dad. I'll meet you at the shop instead." 

"Okay. I'll be there shortly." 

All that remained now was to scuff up the football shirt he'd bought with him. A little mud on his hands and on the knees of his trousers. 

The deception complete. 

His backpack now considerably lighter, along with his heart. 

Sean waited patiently for his father's headlights to turn into the lay-by to pick him up. 

Phase one successfully accomplished.


	17. To be Believed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a fine May Day. Sean wants to go swimming.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is 'Carol's' thoughts from some way in the future. We don't know where she is when she's thinking them as yet, and we don't know what has happened in the interim. 
> 
> The thoughts of Carol are taken from eye witness reports of the goings on in children's homes and young offenders institutions in the 1970's. 
> 
> All will be revealed! 
> 
> The rest of the chapter comes back to the present. It's a turning point in the story.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.  
TO BE BELIEVED. 

_*.....thoughts from some weeks hence...._. 

It was the ultimate irony. She thought to herself. Almost chuckling at the nonsense of it all. 

How this thing should come to pass, an event which would spark a chain of events that scuppered all her so meticulously laid plans. 

If she was honest with herself she might have guessed that something like this would happen. 

'Twas ever thus. 

But to be exposed in such a way? 

It was actually laughable....

Long ago when she was first taken to Daleside, a little red haired girl with a sweet and honest nature, she had learned a valuable lesson. 

No one believes you. 

Just that. 

No matter how much you protest your innocence, no matter how ludicrous it seems to you that those in authority can't see the truth under their very noses.  
At first she'd been utterly astonished by this, so much so that she'd continued to insist on the truth, until she'd come to realise.  
It wasn't really the truth they were interested in.  
All they cared about was that someone was blamed and the matter was put to bed. 

So it began. 

Name calling. 

_'Ginger nut.' 'Carrot top.' 'Devil's child.'_

Cruel certainly, but they couldn't really touch her. 

So a new tack was tried. 

Pinching, punching, spitting. Until they made her retaliate. An almost constant torment. 

Running to those in charge when she's been hit or bullied. 

Shock at finding herself dismissed out of hand. 

Gradually it grew worse. 

Her stories of the hurts she'd endured had her labelled a tell-tale, sneak and a liar. Worsted by those far more worldly wise than herself. Inmates who'd been there for their entire lives. Thoroughly institutionalised. Clever and devious and out to win any crumb of praise or affection they could, from an indifferent adult cabal who did not dole out such things with impunity. 

One trick was pouring water in her bed. Taunting and teasing that she'd pissed in it.  
Earning her a punishment for her transgression. Forced to sleep on the damp mattress with no covers. 

Another was her fellows stealing precious items and secreting them in her locker.  
In this god forsaken place, items to treasure were few and far between, and therefore coveted. Petty theft and pilfering were rife. If you wanted to hang on to something that was rightfully yours, then you hid it well. 

So, when an entire stash of stolen swag was found in amongst her things she was incredulous. 

It was the moment she knew for certain that the truth counted for nothing. 

Her insistence on her innocence won her an even harsher chastisement.  
Defiance was taken for insolence. 

"Why would I steal people's stuff and leave it where it would easily be found?" She demanded angrily. 

Earning a slap for her cheekiness, and a barked reply. 

"Because you're a stupid little whatsit. That's why!" 

Not believed. 

From that day on, she never told the truth again. Her lies became the most elaborate, the most ingenious.  
Only one thing on her mind. 

Revenge. 

Dark thoughts began to fester and brew within her. 

Wiping the smiles from the faces of those nasty sadistic little cows. She'd damn well beat them at their own game. 

When it came it was the sweetest moment. 

Carefully planned to the last inch. Nothing to be traced back to her. 

She knew the ringleader would regularly steal from the pantry. Got away with it time and time again.  
The cold store room had a heavy self locking door.  
By the careful removal and loosening of certain screws, the spring loaded arm at the top could be made to malfunction.  
Thus trapping the person inside. 

Three hours before the bitch was discovered. 

The shock on the faces of the staff as she was carried out. Semi-conscious. 

No one could fathom or guess what could possibly have happened. It must have somehow worked loose over time. 

There was no more than a brief look exchanged between her nemesis and herself. 

But it was enough. 

The girl knew. They both did. 

A note left under her enemy's pillow. 

_"Back off, or next time it'll be ten times worse."_

An uneasy truce. After that the two circled each other warily. Like two hyenas. 

But there was never another assault on her after that, no tricks played, no trouble caused. 

Helen Reid had triumphed. 

The victory was hollow however, because now she was left alone almost completely. It didn't end until she was removed and sent to be fostered at the Phillips's.  
Her one shining beacon of light in all that time.  
Safe. Loved and cared for. Encouraged. All she'd ever really wanted. 

When that period was so cruelly terminated she knew there was nothing more to do other than lie, cheat and do whatever she could to survive. 

Deception now her way of life. Control at all costs. 

Becoming a zen master! 

Years of honing her craft. Slippery as an eel when cornered. Getting away with it. 

Now, here it was. 

After everything she'd done. 

All she'd chased and craved and fought for over these years since. 

The ultimate, ridiculous, irony. 

That a paradox created so perfectly by herself, should prove to be her ultimate downfall. 

A classic Greek Tragedy. 

No one would ever believe her. 

But.....it was the truth. 

_'The whole truth and nothing but the truth'............_.

 _THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO._ * 

oOo

_.......the present day......_

An odd calm had settled. 

Since the day of the school run and the argument over Sean's future. 

Life took on a less chiselled edge. Rounded and smooth, helped by the half term weather, which turned bright and cheery. The sun's warmth growing daily. 

A walk had been suggested. 

Even though Gordon had work to finish, an hour with his family seemed the perfect break. 

Strolling. His parents as a unit once more. 

Both playing football with their son above the high water mark. 

The calm before the storm. 

Today the sea was not too rough. Small curling waves coming ashore with comforting regularity. 

Shoes and socks off, they paddled. 

"Brrr!" 

Each eddy hitting the toes was a thrilling shock. Cold. Bracing. 

"Can I swim dad?" The small eager face looked up expectantly. "Please...." 

"You'll need your thick wet suit on, or you'll freeze to death." Gordon laughed. "It's only May you know."

Smiling together as they watched him race back toward the house to change. So excited at the prospect. 

"I'm gonna go back and put in another hour or two on my designs."

Looking down at his wife's arm, threaded through his own, his hand closing over hers where it lay on his sleeve. They were close. Snuggling.  
Gordon's heart soared. 

Being like this with her. It was what he wanted more than anything else.  
His Carol. His son.  
No arguments. No bickering. No tears. 

"You'll keep an eye?" His mouth touched hers softly, a grazing kiss which she turned deep. 

She loved to see the way his eyes reacted when she kissed him like that. A spark ignited which gave her such pleasure, because it was a pure response.  
To her.  
It was love.  
Writ large.  
Making her happier than she could possibly express in words. 

"Yeah. Course." 

"Don't let him go out too far.....you know what he's like once he's swimming. He loves it so much." 

Her smile was warm, bringing her nose to nuzzle his. 

As she watched, he blushed with embarrassment. 

"What is it?" Her giggle was almost coquettish. 

"Perhaps later.....when Sean goes to Angus's house.....we can...um...." Eyes lowered now, a humble plea.

"Don't be bashful darling! You're ready for more aren't you? What is it you'd like this time?" 

Glancing up Gordon bit his lip. 

"Whatever you're willing to give me."

Pulling him towards her by his jacket lapels so that not an inch of fresh air was between them, she whispered to him, whilst her hand wandered down, squeezing his crotch at the same time. 

"Oh, I've got such plans for you." She hissed meltingly. 

It gave her great satisfaction to see him swallow. 

oOo

How pleasantly warm the sun was. 

Seated on her jacket Carol squinted against the light. Before bringing both hands into a funnel before her eyes to shield them. 

Sean looked like a baby seal. 

Frolicking in the foam. Splashing. Calling out to her, telling her how wonderful it felt.  
Exhilarating. Almost taking his breath away.  
Running out of the surf, dripping wet. Grabbing his boogie board before charging back in again. 

Carol's eyes watered from the twinkling spangled beams which danced on the wave tops. 

This was a magical day. 

With more fun promised later. The prospect almost made her salivate. 

And this young boy....

She could really grow to love him. He was a very special child. Made more so by the fact that her husband adored him so.  
Attempting to separate them was a mistake. She must accept. Share her husband. It was something she must learn. Sharing did not come easily to her. But it could be done.  
It must be. 

Looking out from the shore his red carroty head bobbed about, lifted up and down by the undulations in the water.  
She beckoned to him. 

"Sean! Too far out! Come in closer to the beach please!" It appeared he was deaf and blind to her signal and call. 

Standing, brushing the grains of sand from her hands, she ambled to the waters edge. Cupping her hands over her mouth.

"SEAN!!!" 

At that moment he seemed to disappear in a trough as one breaker superseded another. 

A thrill of fear passed through her whole body as she momentarily lost sight of him.

"SEAN!!! Come back in.......you're too far out." 

To her relief he reappeared as the deep sundering furrow of the wave became the mountain peak of the next. 

But he was in trouble. 

That much was clear. 

Struggling against an unseen force. A hidden hand seemed to be tugging him. He cried out. 

"MUM! HELP ME!!" 

"SEAN!!!!" 

Her screams seemed to die on her lips, as she watched him go under. 

Frozen. 

It was if she'd been paused. 

Unable to move as the wavelets lapped around her shoes. 

Up he bobbed once again. Arms flailing now. 

Taking two steps into the water, up to her knees. Then above, but not daring to go further. 

She couldn't. Terror gripped her. Overwhelming. 

Certain death waited her if she went deeper. 

Looking wildly about her at the deserted bay, she knew there was no help, the boy would drown.  
All she could do was stand and watch it happen. 

As if her volume control had been switched back on she began to yell and scream with all her might. 

Then, in the distance. 

A figure. 

Running fast. Sprinting with his arms flailing like a windmill as he sought to retain his balance on the soft forgiving sand.  
Acting like quick lime, slowing his progress as he tried to move faster.  
Crying out as he ran. 

_"SEAN!! SEAN!!!"_

Barrelling straight passed her, lifting his legs high as he waded until the water was deep enough then diving in directly. Arms stretched upwards at the sides of his head. Surfacing, flicking his hair from his eyes with a toss of his head before striking out purposefully towards the terrified boy.  
Front crawl. Strong sweeping strokes. Face down, then to the side, taking a breath only when forced to do so. 

In moments he was by his stricken son's side. 

Just as the ginger head disappeared for the final time. 

Carol stared in utter horror, as she watched her husband take a gulp of air then bend in the middle, following him down. 

Feet kicking at the surface. 

An eternity passed. 

Surely they were both gone. 

The dark depths of the murky sea claiming them. 

Weeping uncontrollably. Shaking all over. Thighs washed unheeded now by the breakers. 

_"GORDON!!!!"_

Moments like hours. 

Breaking the surface in a flurry of bubbles. 

With a whoosh like a rising salmon he popped up. 

Gasping and spluttering. 

He had him, by the neck of his wetsuit. 

Limp and lifeless. But he had him. 

Grim determination on Gordon's face as he struck out for the shore. Pulling his burden along with him.  
Keeping the small head out of the water. Once he was within reach she grabbed on to the child. Dragging him to the sand, as her husband hauled himself from the sea, blue with cold, shaking, crying, utterly exhausted. 

"Call a fucking ambulance." He gasped, before collapsing to his knees. His legs no longer able to support him. 

Her fingers would hardly do her bidding. Dialling, speaking, as Gordon loosened the rubber zip, exposing the skinny chest and began to perform mouth to mouth. Then kneeling at his side, turning her own attention to the youngster. A seal no more.  
A grey dead thing. 

"No.....like this....get the water out....." Taking over, as her husband dissolved into paroxysms of sobbing. 

"Oh God! Breathe Sean! Breathe."

Turning him she administered all the help she could. Not knowing whence came this knowledge.  
Onto his side, arms up then down. Pumping out the water. Which dribbled from his lips sickeningly. 

Gordon was bent over his own knees now, still breathing as if he'd climbed Everest. Trembling all over with the bone numbing cold. It wasn't working. 

Carol picked up the boy. 

A dead weight. 

Slinging him roughly over one shoulder. Head hanging down her back. Almost jumping up and down with him flopping there like an empty sock puppet. 

As the sound of a siren wailed, the child gave a convulsive cough. 

Coming back into being. 

Heaving and bursting into a hail of tears. Salt water from his eyes and sea water from his mouth. 

She'd bought him back. 

The paramedics reached them as she placed him down, wrapping her jacket around him. 

To her surprise Gordon pushed her roughly aside. 

"SEAN!! Oh my god! My boy......my precious boy....."

Wrapped in blankets now and attached to a monitor, their son was loaded first onto a stretcher, then into the back of the vehicle.  
His father, enveloped in a foil blanket, helped aboard too. His arms and legs unable to obey him as hypothermia kicked in.  
As Carol made to join them, their eyes met. 

Locked. 

What Carol saw there was shocked confusion, but most of all, disbelief. 

Pure and unadulterated. 

Behind him, over Gordon's shoulder Sean was staring at her too. Dumbstruck. 

What she saw in his eyes was quite different. 

Fear. 

Abject terror. 

Now Carol was quite sure. She'd suspected all along but now she was certain. 

_Sean knew._

The boy clung on to his dad and they both glared towards her. Two pairs of identical green eyes. Confusion and horror in equal measure. 

It was incomprehensible to her. Surely they couldn't possible think.......

"I'll come....." She began, one foot placed on the bottom step. 

"NO!" A sharp command. _"No, you won't!"_

The medics glanced uneasily from one to the other of the threesome. Unsure of what was going on. 

"She'd best stay here." Gordon turned away, still shivering, addressing himself to the ambulance driver. 

"Or she can follow in the car." He clarified. 

Then, bearing his chattering teeth, he snarled at his wife. 

_"STAY AWAY."_

Dazed, Carol stepped back. The shock of his reaction temporarily muted her. Not a single word in her own defence would come.  
In an instant she saw where they stood. 

As the doors closed, she called out. Desperate. 

"I love you......Gordon.....Sean......please believe me....there was nothing I could do......."


	18. Into the Fog.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Sean's 'accident'. Gordon and Sean are in hospital. 
> 
> Crowther is very anxious to speak to 'Carol'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carol is interviewed and it is clear that the police have nothing to hold her for.  
> Rhona, however has some insights into her reasoning and her actions which surprise Crowther.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.  
INTO THE FOG. 

Stripped of his sodden clothes and wrapped in special thermal blankets like a piece of battered cod in newspaper, Gordon lay on a stretcher. 

His son lay next to him, being tended by the male paramedic. 

It was impossible to focus. 

Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he knew he was supposed to be a concerned father. Desperately worried about his son. But the thoughts refused to form themselves. 

It was a strange, floating feeling. As if he were wandering, lost in a dark, misty netherworld. On the edge of imagination and reality.  
He could hear perfectly well, but nothing seemed to soak in.  
Impervious to the meaning or urgency of the words. 

Idly, he mused, that if he could just sleep, all would be well. Indeed, that was what his whole being fought to do. To sink down into a blissful slumber. Rested, tranquil and removed from all else. 

This was partly his body's adverse reaction to the cold water, but also partly due to shock and a complete incomprehension of what had taken place. 

Try as he might, he could not make sense of it. The feeling left him deeply troubled. 

His eyes closed. Drifting off. 

Waking, he wasn't sure if hours had passed, or mere moments. 

Turning his head to the side, he could see the pale drawn face of his own child. 

Fear snapped him back into being. 

"Sean?" His voice had no strength in it whatever. Weak as a kitten. 

"It's alright." A kindly tone, as a blur of green and yellow Hi-Vis moved over him. 

"Is he okay?" He gripped the sleeve as it passed across him, adjusting his covering. 

"He'll be fine Mr Fleming, your quick response saved him." 

Without warning Gordon began to cry. 

"Hey! It's okay." A warm hand clasped his own, the fingers wrapping genuinely around, interlocking and squeezing tight, another, cool, resting against his brow. 

"They'll no doubt keep him in for a few hours observation, all being well with his chest. We are not sure how much water he actually breathed in. He swallowed some because he's been sick. So it's best to monitor him. And once you are warmed up, I'm sure they'll let you go too." 

"I.....I need to make a phone call......" he responded hastily, struggling to sit up. 

"Right now?" 

It took a huge effort for Gordon to calm himself, to his own ears, his words sounded slurred, like he was drunk. Why wouldn't his brain obey him? 

"Yes! I must make the call.....it's very urgent....." 

Reaching into her jacket pocket, the medic passed him her own mobile. 

Gordon stared at it as if it were a foreign object. 

"What do I do?" He asked, almost pathetically. 

"You just dial the numbers.....like on your own phone." 

The digits danced and blurred before his eyes. 

"I can't see them properly.....is that normal?" 

Seemingly unfazed, remaining quite calm and speaking softly, she took the device from him. 

"You're not back to yourself quite yet....you were in that water a long time, without the benefit of the wet suit your son was wearing....perhaps you should wait a bit, until you've recovered and your temperature has returned to normal levels." 

"I can't.....I must speak to this person....it's vital that I do....please help me..." 

Afraid that he was becoming agitated, the ambulance woman soothed him. 

"Don't get upset now....tell me who you want to call so desperately, and I'll do it for you, okay?" 

The thought struck his fuddled head that he had absolutely no idea of the telephone number. Running his hands through his damp hair distractedly, he tried to think. 

"Um.....It's the Clyde University. Para-psychology department. Dr Monaghan......" 

....

The phone was answered after three rings. 

"Douglas?" 

Dr Monaghan did not recognise the strangled voice on the other end of the line. 

"Who's this?" 

"Douglas....it's Gordon." 

The sound of a man who was barely holding himself together. Half weeping, half hyperventilating.  
Making very little sense. 

"I need you to come. Sean needs you. Please will you come....we're on our way to Ayr Hospital. Douglas please. Ring Crowther, get him there.....he needs to be there......right away......I've something to tell you.....Douglas please....please....before Carol....." 

The psychologist's own innate common sense told him not to waste time asking questions, whatever had happened was clearly not good. Seldom had he heard more distress in a man's voice. 

"Gordon. Listen to me. I'm on my way. Okay? I'm on my way." 

"And you'll ring Crowther......?" 

"Leave it to me. I'll be there as soon as I can.....you hang on.....I'm leaving right now." 

Only a deep sigh of relief came by way of a reply. A great heaving breath. 

"Thank you." He whispered. "Thank you....I didn't know who else to call.....but I know how much Carol once trusted you as a friend....." 

An buzz of finality as the line went dead. 

Returning the handset to the paramedic waiting patiently at his side, Gordon lay his head back against the pillows. 

Finally allowing the feeling of creeping inertia to sweep over his mind. The gentle sway of the vehicle, the comforting bleeping of the machinery seemingly rocking him. Even the rattle of all the equipment fastened to every available nook and cranny within his field of vision, helped him on his way.

Everything whispering.....sleep......sleep. 

His lids closed again almost against his will. 

oOo

Monaghan delayed his departure only for as long as it took him to inform Meghan and Andrew of the call he'd received.  
Dialling Detective Sergeant Crowther as he hurried down to the car park.  
Even taking the quickest route it would take him more than half an hour to drive from the city. 

There was no time to lose. 

....

The mist did not clear. 

Gordon was dreaming in amongst it. 

As seems to be the nature of dreams, in part it appeared wholly real, and in others pure fantasy. 

Wandering in a wraithlike vapour which swirled around him. Stumbling over unseen pitfalls. Trying to rub his eyes to enable them to focus clearly. 

He began to run, even though partially blind. Towards the tide line on an unknown shore. Towards the sound of a child's voice. 

Swathes of the fog clung around him, making his hair damp and his clothes cling to his body. 

Pelting as fast as he could, his own heart pounding, able to hear the throb through his veins as it pulsed in his ears. 

Ahead, in the water, he could see the arms of his son, flailing against a tentacled creature which seemed to be dragging him under, whilst all the time his wife stood at the edge of the waves.  
Just staring, as if fascinated. 

Not moving. Not helping. 

Watching her own son slowly drowning. 

Letting him slip away. He was sure there was a smile on her face. One of satisfaction. 

Only when she turned and saw him sprinting towards her did she start to yell and scream. Tearing at her hair. 

Before that.....silence. Not a sound did she make. Seemingly ignoring the plaintive and increasingly desperate cries from the water. 

"Mum! Why won't you help me?" 

The pleas echoed inside his skull. Reverberating as if he were inside a cathedral, the vaulted ceiling of which returned the words to him in gradually decreasing volume until they faded from his hearing. 

The ice cold of the water as it hit him took his breath clean away. 

The youngster's eyes were wide open. His mouth too, as he gave a final gurgling shout. 

At the sight of Sean's orange head disappearing he cried out.

"SEAN!"

Then woke. 

He'd called the name out loud, emerging from the depths of his nightmare and into the stark reality of the present. 

For a moment he wasn't sure where he was. 

Looking around him wildly. 

Then, a familiar face. 

Douglas Monaghan. Peering over him. 

The face was blurred at first but shimmered gradually into focus. 

"Douglas!" He gasped. Grabbing the doctor's sleeve. 

"She was going to let him drown." 

Then, eyes filled with fear, a barrage of questions. 

"Where is he? Is he alright? Is Carol here? Where's Crowther? He must talk to her......she's ill.....for God's sake don't let her near Sean....."

"Gordon! Hush....hush...." drawing up a chair his friend sat down, taking one of Gordon's large hands in his own.

"Sean is doing fine. He's inhaled some sea water but he's fine, he's had a chest X-Ray, they are observing him for a few hours then he'll be good to go. You too. They've warmed you up, and you will soon be right as rain." 

"What about Carol?" He demanded. "She's changed Douglas.....she's not the Carol I married.....it's like both twins have been melded together into one, some twisted amalgam of two personalities....I don't know what's happening.....she'd have let him drown....I know it....she was just standing there....." 

Standing, Monaghan picked up a beaker of warm tea, holding it out to the stricken man. Gordon accepted it with trembling hands, sipping it and feeling the warmth slide down. 

"Crowther has taken her in for questioning. She's agreed to accompany him to the station. Don't worry about her right now. You need to concentrate on yourself and Sean.....oh, and she bought this in with her....she asked for it to be given to her son." 

From a carrier bag the doctor produced Freddo. 

"She made no fuss Gordon. She went along with Crowther almost as if she'd been expecting it. She didn't see me, I made sure of that. But she must have guessed you'd called the police. She seemed resigned." 

"I don't understand it Douglas.....I can't make sense of it all. There have been moments of such happiness.....couldn't believe I'd got my wife back.....so lucky.....but then.....other times I hardly seem to know her, it's all so bloody confusing....it's this damn fog.....it won't clear." 

He rubbed at his head again, shaking as fresh tears began to fall. 

"It's all such a fucking mess. Why did she ever come? Helen. Why? We'd have made it, Carol and me. Somehow. We'd have sorted things out.....but now......I just don't know what to do anymore...." 

Gordon found himself enveloped in a strong manly embrace. Unable to hold in his emotion, he surrendered. Allowing himself the indulgence of venting it.  
To his credit Monaghan offered no comment, either advisory or placatory. He just let the man sob onto his shoulder. 

....

The light from a single lamp illuminated the touching scene. 

Douglas, standing in the doorway of his spare bedroom looked down upon it with mixed feelings. It was the least he could do. Offer sanctuary.  
Certain that this could all have been avoided had he not been so complacent. So wrapped up in the artistry of his work.  
In being so singly focussed on his own experiments, his own theories and hypotheses on telepathy and mind communication, he'd let go of the one thing that was of vital importance. 

That his subjects were not guinea pigs. Not hamsters to be observed on a wheel. They were human beings. People with troubles and issues. With agendas and schemes of their own. 

He was so angry with himself. 

Never again would he allow something like this to happen in the name of Science. 

There, in front of him in the muted half light, lay Gordon and Sean. 

Father and son curled in the bed together. Sleeping deeply. 

The boy clutched his teddy close to his breast. The head of the parent resting against that of his child.  
Breathing in synchronicity. 

In, out. 

In, out. 

Gordon's arm protectively over his boy. Keeping him close. 

Thank god they were both safe. 

For now at least. 

oOo

Carol Fleming sat on the plastic chair in interview room 2. 

A rather dark cup of tea before her in a plastic beaker. 

Staring vacantly at the slate grey wall ahead. The clock hanging in the centre ticking the seconds with rhythmic regularity. 

Everything around her seemed hazy. Indistinct. Did she but know it, almost exactly the same sensations Gordon had been experiencing. The fog of confusion. 

To be believed. 

That was the thing. 

Her mind raced. How to play it? 

For once, lying seemed futile. 

A single tear coursed down her cheek. Dripping onto the worn table top. 

Her hands were placed on the surface in front of her. Two balled fists. 

Looking down at them she could see the patina of all the previous hands that had lain there just as hers now did.  
Darkened, greasy palm marks. 

From both the guilty and the innocent. 

All sweating just the same. 

Her musings were broken by the entry of Detective Crowther, followed by the attractive woman police constable she'd been so struck by when they'd visited the house. The DS she dismissed out of hand. He was a troglodyte, a dullard. Beneath her contempt.  
But the girl?  
Here were an intelligent, all seeing pair of eyes, she thought.  
A slight challenge in the glance they gave. 

She would have to be on her best metal with this one. 

Carol decided to open the conversation herself. 

Attempting defiance. Although for the first time in many, many years, she didn't feel it. 

"How is my son?" 

Crowther ignored her. 

"We'd like to ask you a few questions Mrs Fleming." 

"I want to know how my son is.....and my husband." 

"Of course you're not obliged to say anything, this is only an informal interview.....at the moment.....but we'd be grateful if you could give us your version of what happened on the beach today." 

Carol laughed bitterly. 

"It doesn't matter what I say though, does it? You've already made up your minds. That's why I'm here. I know you people. I know how it works." 

She shot a glance towards Rhona, who remained impassive, looking steadily back. Her expression maddeningly unreadable.  
The female officer mentally noting, with some degree of enlightenment, that this was just the sort of response she'd expect from Helen Reid, not from Carol Fleming, who, as far as she knew, had no experience of being in Police custody or anything similar whatever. 

"They are both still at the hospital. But they are doing well. They may be discharged later today." She replied quietly. Speaking directly to her adversary across the table, unblinking.

"Am I being accused of anything? If so, what? And I'm entitled to legal representation if I am to be interrogated. I know my rights." 

Crowther sat back in his seat with a frown. Crossing his legs and folding his arms. 

"This isn't Colditz Mrs Fleming. We are not the Gestapo. All we want to understand from you, is what happened today. There are no allegations and no accusations as yet. No tape recordings and statements. We just want the truth." 

Carol laughed again.

"The whole truth and nothing but the truth! I know. Well! I'll tell you the truth, I'll tell you exactly what happened. And then you can tell me you don't believe me, that's the way it usually works." 

Her eyes were cold and harsh, but as she spoke her voice trembled. 

"He was swimming." She began, simply. "Gordon had gone back to the house to work....but he must have come back for something......" she stopped for a brief moment, considering. "......thank god he did." 

"What happened next?" Rhona kept her voice deliberately quiet and even. 

"He was splashing about. I sat on my jacket. The sun was warm." As Carol recalled the mornings events her tone became softer, almost wistful. Tears rolled down her cheeks silently. "It's been so hard since my sister.....my sister....." she swallowed. "Since I lost my twin. But we were getting there. Gordon and I.....and Sean. This was a good day. Magical.....I closed my eyes and turned my face into the sun's warmth and thought how happy I was. Just that......happy." 

Her eyelids fluttered shut, head tilting back slightly, as she relived those precious golden moments. 

"Sean had run in for his board. Then gone out again. The water was cold but he has a special insulated wet suit. He's been used to going in the water as soon as the weather starts to warm. He's a strong swimmer, always a water baby. Just loves it you see." 

Opening her eyes she looked from one to the other of her examiners.

"You don't understand do you? How could you? He's such a special child......our only one.....so wanted.....I have an ovarian abnormality.....I had trouble falling pregnant with him you see, it took a long while.....we were so lucky to have him." She smiled to herself. "Gordon dotes on him of course....which tends to mean its down to me to be the tyrannical parent! Enforcing bed times, homework, that sort of thing.....you know?" 

Reaching into her sleeve she produced a tissue, which she proceeded to twist in her hands as she spoke. 

"He was laughing. Waving. Sploshing about......then suddenly, he wasn't......I stood up, walked to the edge. Called to him to come in as he'd gotten further out somehow. I don't know......at first I didn't realise. I thought he was just larking about." 

Her voice broke. Face creasing into sobs. 

This was not Carol acting. This was real. Rhona thought to herself as she observed quietly. 

"I completely froze." Speaking barely above a whisper. Her eyes shifting from the policewoman to the Detective Sergeant. 

"I couldn't call out. No sound would come. I couldn't move. It was just blind panic I suppose....I don't know. I looked around and there was no one. I just stood there.....it was as if my brain just switched off.....then I saw Gordon and it was like a miracle....he was running. It was like I received an electric shock when I spotted him. It all came back. I started screaming. Screaming. Screaming." 

"But you didn't try to go in after him?" Crowther's eyebrow was raised in evident scepticism. "You're his mother after all. The maternal instinct and all that." 

Shaking her head in shame. 

"No. I didn't go in. Something stopped me. In my mind I saw myself being dragged under and I couldn't bring myself to do it......I'm not proud. I wasn't brave. I know that. But I did manage to revive him....he was unconscious, it was me who brought him back."

Breaking down completely, her paroxysms of weeping rippled through her whole body. 

"Gordon thinks it doesn't he? That's why I'm here." She sobbed, wiping her pouring nose. "He'll never forgive me. Sean too......I failed them......I'm not fit to be a mother......" 

No more words could they coax from her, as she leaned forwards until her forehead touched the table. Crying so hard as if her heart might break. 

Finally, calming herself sufficiently, she looked PC Jameson in the eye. 

"I swear to you....woman to woman.....there was nothing I could do. Had I gone in after him I'd have drowned myself. But you have to believe me, he's my son and I would never harm a hair on that boy's head. Why would I? I'd stand to lose Gordon forever....he wouldn't give me the time of day if anything happened to his boy because of something I'd done. I'm telling the truth." 

oOo

"We're going to have to let her go. You realise that? We've nothing." 

Crowther made an alarming slurping noise as he sipped his tea. Rhona frowned at him. 

"What about all the other stuff we've got? Can't we question her formally about Mike....or about what happened in the Fleming house on the night of the fire?" 

Frustration crackled between the two officers. Yet Nick shook his head. 

"It's too soon. I'm not ready to show my hand yet, what we have is largely circumstantial. We'd be laughed out of court. If I'm going to the CPS with this then I need to have a watertight case, and at the moment I have nothing more than speculation, surmise and crazy theories. I need just one piece of cast iron, solid evidence....and I don't have it. Yet." 

Jameson drained her own cup thoughtfully. 

"I actually believe her though, Sir. I don't think she meant any harm to young Sean. I think it was a genuine accident and she did exactly what she said she did. She froze." 

Crowther laughed heartily. 

"You've a lot to learn then! She didn't fool me for a moment with her crocodile tears and her chest thumping. She was going to stand there and watch the poor little wean drown. No compunction. It was unlucky for her she was caught in the act. Don't let that bitch suck you in, love. She's as fucking guilty as sin." 

His colleague shook her head in disagreement. 

"No sir. Not this time. She may be a cheat and a compulsive liar, even a hardened psychopath, but her distress about Sean was real. She was terrified. I don't think she's experienced that emotion for a very, very long time, and I think it rocked her to the core. And I think I know why....." 

"Oh? Pray.....do tell....." her superior was smiling, but there was a certain respect in his request as well as the hint of mirth at her confidence. 

"Because I think she is deeply in love with Gordon. Almost obsessively so. Because I think that he is the key to all of this. I think that Helen came here looking for a lost sister, but instead she fell in love with Gordon hook, line and sinker, but he was already taken and that is why she wanted so much to get her sister out of the way.  
If she _is_ Helen, Sir....and I believed she is.....then she knows only too well that if anything happened to that boy she would lose Gordon's love. Whatever it is between them, it runs very deep. I saw something when we went to the house that day....a look from him to her, a wink from her to him, a little secret smile, call it love, lust or desire or what you will but it was there.....and there's no way she would jeopardise that......no way at all." 

Rising, the detective crossed to the window. It was almost dark now. The street lights stretching away in neat orange rows. Puffing out his cheeks he shoved both hands into his pockets with a sullen air. 

"Humph!" He expostulated. "Well, I guess I'll bow to female intuition.....but whatever we both think, we can't do much else at the moment but set her free." 

He turned away from the view, resuming his seat. 

"I tell you what though. We'll take some finger prints whilst she's here...if she has no objections. We can't force her of course but she'll agree if she's got nothing to hide. I'd at least like to see if we can match them to anything.....anything at all....even a partial.....the scrapbook or the knife perhaps. I don't hold out much hope but hey. It's worth a shot." 

His mouth opened in a cavernous yawn. The prospect of leaving early wafted tantalisingly before him. 

"Right then! Tell her she's free to go!" He growled. "I'm gonna fuck off home to ma kids."


	19. The Fog Clears.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon returns home with Sean. Carol is waiting. 
> 
> Sean witnesses his parents reconciliation and it sparks a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no doubt in my mind when writing this chapter that Carol's reaction is genuine.  
> She is terrified of rejection by Gordon. There is no triumph this time when he gives in, which is why I wrote another scene like this, to highlight the difference. And it is very different. She capitulates because she wants to, needs to, Gordon represents everything in her life she's missed out on so far. She is just deeply thankful. No more than that.  
> Also it's an important scene because it finally sparks Sean into his plan.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.  
THE FOG CLEARS. 

The morning dawned cold and grey, in complete contrast to the previous one. 

It was still very early when Monaghan drove Gordon, who was dressed in borrowed track bottoms and a T-Shirt, and a soundly sleeping Sean also wearing loaned clothes which swamped him, home in the dim first light.  
Drizzle peppered the windscreen, blown off the sea in little flurries. 

"Don't forget, if there's anything you need, at any time.....just call me. Okay? And if I can't persuade you to stay away, then for God's sake watch yourself." 

"We'll be fine Douglas. We need to have it out. Get to the truth. Otherwise we'll never be able to move on, or get passed it. I think Carol should agree to have counselling, she's not herself and hasn't been since the fire. It's becoming worse, this business of taking on her sister's traits. I'm worried for her." 

Douglas huffed. 

" _I'm_ more worried about _you_." 

His friend interrupted, cutting off any further comments. 

"I know your thoughts Dougie. But I'm not convinced. Good grief! Sometimes she's been more 'Carol' than Carol! At others she's struggled to hold it together. I refuse to believe she could fake that so convincingly. I love her. All I want is to have some peace, with my son and my wife.....we'll get through this somehow." 

"I'll just remind you that it was you who rang me!" Came the emphatic response. "You were convinced she was going to let Sean drown. I ask you....would your wife have done that?" 

Gordon stared out of the rain spattered window. 

"She's been questioned by the police. They've let her go. They can find no reason to detain her. She must have been telling the truth, they are convinced she meant him no harm. It was as she said, there was nothing she could do." 

Monaghan sighed. More and more he was certain that Gordon Fleming was trying to convince himself rather than anyone else that Carol was indeed Carol, but there was little else he could do other than try to couch his kindness with a warning. 

Lights were shining in the downstairs windows as they turned into the lane. 

Pulling to a stop the doctor turned off the engine. 

"I'll see you Douglas. And thank you for everything." Gordon made to open the passenger door. 

His sleeve was tugged back. 

"Take care Gordon. Please....." 

Sean's eyelids opened lazily and he yawned. 

"Come on son, let's get you indoors and into your own bed. You can grab a couple more hours kip before breakfast." 

Watching the two pick their way through the dreich weather, their friend groaned to himself, before turning the key and driving away. 

oOo

Once Sean was tucked up with Freddo, Gordon reentered the kitchen where his wife waited. 

Her face was pale and drawn with exhaustion. Eyes red rimmed and puffy from hours of crying. 

She was eerily silent. Making no attempt to barrage her husband with excuses or explanations.  
Her eyes raked his, searching for a crumb of compassion. 

Lowering himself onto a stool beside her, he placed down two cups of strong coffee. 

"Let's talk." He said. 

Instead, Carol covered her face with both hands, breaking into a new bout of weeping. 

Remaining impassive, Gordon kept his seat. Waiting patiently. Making no move to comfort her. 

Eventually she calmed, dabbing her eyes, quelling her tears. 

"I froze Gordon. It's the truth. There's nothing more I can say. I don't have a prepared speech. I can't beg you to forgive me. Or to believe me. But I'm telling you, that's what happened." 

Standing now, her husband paced. Churning her words over in his head. 

When he paused and turned towards her his eyes were damp. 

"I saw you. You were just standing there. Watching him go under.....fucking hell Carol....what am I supposed to think? Coming so soon after that business with the private school....."

"I don't know what you want me to say." Standing herself she moved closer, but he backed away, both hands held up to keep her at bay.  
"The police were happy with my description of events. But if I can't convince you of my innocence then what hope is there?" 

Taking a step towards him again, Carol caught and held his forearms. 

"I would never do anything to harm Sean. He's my son. I just saw him struggling and I couldn't move. I couldn't cry out. I couldn't function at all. It was like it wasn't real. Happening to someone else. Until I saw you running there was no help that I could see. Nothing to be done....I was terrified." 

Once more she burst into paroxysms of crying, her whole body shaking with the strength of her sobs. 

This time he did not rebuff her. Speaking with great calmness and empathy. 

"Sweetheart, I really think you should accept the help that's been offered you. Pauline Campbell has a team of fantastic counsellors.....Carol, it could help you....help you grieve....help you cope, and help you separate yourself from your sister's influence. So you can be yourself again....I truly believe you would benefit." 

His arms came around her almost with reluctance, the reaction immediate. Melting into his chest. Face buried in the material of the soft over shirt he wore.  
He smelled so good. 

"If you think it would do me good." She acquiesced. 

Instinct told her not to press the advantage. Just go with his embrace and accept it. 

Raising his chin slightly so that she slotted against him he gave a sigh. A perfect fit. 

Pressing her body against his. Whimpering to be drawn closer, because the feeling of being held by Gordon made her heart soar. The touch of his lips she craved, so soft and warm. Raising her head, she tried to kiss him in spite of herself.  
"Gordon." Her voice a breathy whisper. " I love you so much." 

He accepted the brush of her mouth against his own, but moved away when she tried to take it deeper. 

"Carol. Not now....don't turn this into you coming on to me....it's not what I want or need right now. I just need to know I can trust you. That you are being honest with me....like we promised." 

For a second her eyes flashed at the rejection, but she held it in and let out another little mewl of surrender. Tucking her head down again.  
His hand was stroking her back. 

"It's when I feel closest to you my darling. When we are truly one together. It's the time I feel that I am wholly yours and you are mine. I'm sorry if I come on too strong....but it's out of love and desire for you, nothing more." 

A tut of frustration seeped from him. 

"My own sweetheart, it's not that I don't want you, it's just that it isn't always the answer. I love you more than I can say. You are my wife, like your sister was to you, so we are two halves of the same whole. Since Helen was here we've had tough times....I know that. But we've also had times when I've been so deliriously happy. Moments of utter bliss and joy.....that's what I want us to have always. It's more than just intimacy, it's all that goes with it. Companionship, friendship, togetherness. Our bond. You and I. Our physical love just strengthens that union. It doesn't define it. I need that every bit as much as sex. I always have, you know that." 

No man of her acquaintance had ever said such things. Never purely wanted her for reasons other than she could satisfy with her body.  
For him, it was a complete package. The pure joy of just being beside the person you love most in the world. A rare thing. It was something she'd not experienced in any other relationship thus far. 

Not for nothing was she instantly attracted to this man. 

He was practically unique, she decided. 

The revelation filled her with an insatiable desire. There was nothing about him that didn't drive her crazy.  
The way he looked and smelled. The pleasing physical shape of him. Those beautiful eyes. The softness of his manner, his innate gentleness. His tender, submissive nature. All combined to make him the ultimate turn on as far as maleness went.  
She didn't want macho. There had been plenty of that in her life, aggressive, controlling men.  
Gordon's character was her idea of a soul mate. A partner to be conjoined with in every way. 

Insinuating her arms around his neck, she kissed the skin just below the lobe of his right ear. 

Hearing him give a tiny gasp. 

This was power. 

It was thrilling. 

Whatever happened now between herself and Sean, whether the boy believed in her or not, it didn't matter. As long as she had this wonderful closeness with his father, the rest would fall into place.  
She was clever. She could control the boy. It would all be fine. He would grow to accept. To love. 

Her fingers tangled in his hair now. Lips moving slowly from neck to cheek to chin, then finding his mouth again. 

"Kiss me Gordon, please don't push me away....." 

His capitulation was instant. Devouring as if he might eat her alive. All resistance gone. 

This was how it had been right from the first time he'd ever comforted her, in the kitchen of the old house, after her dolt of a husband had died.  
She'd felt it then as she felt it now. And all the subsequent times they'd kissed each other before the fire. The crackle of attraction between them. So strong. 

He couldn't help himself. 

He needed this just as she did. 

Plundering her mouth now with his tongue. Teeth clashing. His hands pulling her in tight. 

Moaning. Feverish snogging. 

With a suddenness which took her completely by surprise she found herself seized by the waist and bunted up onto the kitchen counter.  
Parting her legs, hands gripping her knees he pushed himself between them. Not breaking the connection of his lips with hers.

This was not submission, this was not sweet, tender, begging little Gordon. 

This was animal passion. Not to be denied. 

His hands were everywhere, inside her blouse, kneading her breasts, down between her thighs, touching her through her clothes.  
Frantic. Almost crazed with lust. 

"Oh Gordon..... _yes_......touch me.....please...." 

A small smile played on his shining lips as he obeyed her. 

How wet she was for him! 

As his fingers found her and pushed inside, a little cry of unsuppressed delight at the feel of him penetrating her like this. Maddeningly arousing. The touch just where she needed it most.  
Her skirt hitched up. Breasts displayed. Wanton.  
Flushed with the urge to give herself. 

Fumbling awkwardly with his own belt and fly. No time to divest himself. Trousers merely tugged down out of the way. 

Their eyes locked together as he drew himself out, glistening, she bit her lip as she felt him moving the lace of her knickers to the side, positioning himself, before pushing inside with a groan of satisfaction. 

Hadn't he imagined just this very fantasy? Often dreamed but never close to being realised. 

Now, here he was. Powerful, dominant and sexy as fuck. 

His thrusts were rough and uncoordinated. Drawing gasps from her with each forceful drive. Impaling her fully each time.  
Listening as her moans increased and turned to cries. Clinging to him, pushing towards him as his cock plunged in yet again. Her thighs clamped, vicelike around his hips. Right around his body at buttock height. Feet crossed behind his back. 

Urging him on every time he rammed into her. Almost lifted onto tiptoes as she arched her back to receive him one more time.  
Carol climaxed first.  
The intensity propelling her over the edge. Overwhelming excitement at being in this position, impelling and erotic all at the same time. 

At the feel of her contractions Gordon pumped harder, reaching a completion that his impetus could not fight a moment longer.  
Flushed in face and neck he finished and sagged against her warmth. Breathing hard and fast. 

"Well! Gordon!" She whispered, her lips closing over his one final time. "Where did that come from?" 

Her husband couldn't speak. 

His head was buried somewhere around the level of her throat. Still deep inside her. His eyes tightly closed.  
Panting. 

"Gordon. Darling?" She murmured into his hair. "You are so beautiful. Word can't express how much I feel for you, admire you, love you.....you've made me feel whole again." 

Regaining control he tried to pull out, but she prevented him. Legs still holding him flush against her. 

"Stay a moment longer." Her voice was honey. "Let me feel you filling me....being one with you. Oh Gordon! It's so wonderful." 

"I love you Carol. Let's move forward from this day. Make our marriage what we both want. Make it work. It's all I ever wanted." 

Her fingers were petting his hair. 

"We will. We will darling. You tell me what you want and I'll tell you. Honesty. We'll simply love each other.....and we'll love our son.....the three of us. A family again." 

Suddenly overwhelmed, Gordon wept. Hushed and comforted by his wife as she released him from her grip and he moved away.  
Looking down at himself almost in shame. 

A finger beneath his chin raised his eyes to hers. 

"Don't be bashful now Gordon. This was good. I like it when you assert yourself occasionally. It turns me on." 

"Really?" He seemed unsure. "I thought you preferred me to be the passive one?" 

"I thought _you_ favoured that dynamic....but it doesn't always have to be the case. We can do whatever you want." 

"Thank you sweetheart. Always so good to me. I just love any affection you're prepared to give. And I love to be on my knees to you. Letting you know how much I adore you." 

She stoked his face tenderly. 

"You are such a dear man." A smile swept across her face. "Let's clean up, I'm hungry for some breakfast, and I'm sure Sean will soon be awake and starving too." 

oOo 

Sean Fleming listened from the bottom of the stairs, long enough to hear his father say how deliriously happy he'd been. Express his utter bliss and joy. 

Peeping through the gap in the kitchen door. 

He'd heard enough. Discretion being the better part of valour, he withdrew when his parents moved closer and began to snog each other senseless. 

It was all he needed to know. 

Tomorrow he must put his carefully laid plans into action. 

He was not wanted here. 

His father loved him, of that he was sure, but anything else was not even to be considered. Although still young, he was not fooled. Had it not been for the shoelaces, he may never have known. 

He refused to live a lie. 

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow would be the day. 

oOo 

They breakfasted together as a family. Then, as the rain clouds had blown away allowing the sun to break through, they took the football and walked along the beach. 

Carol strolled behind, hands in her pockets, smiling as she watched Gordon and Sean having a kick about.  
Jumpers for goal posts.  
Gordon shimmying, arm's outstretched. Knees bent. Sean scores and wheels away with fists held aloft. Cheering.  
Before he is grabbed around the waist and wrestled to the sand. Tickled into submission for his pains. 

Laughing together on the beach where, the day before, his life could almost have ended.  
Seemingly forgotten now. 

Carol thanked the gods above that she had them. Both of them. 

.....

It was in the early hours of the morning when Gordon woke. Rubbing his eyes. Rain was beating on the windowpanes again. 

Pitch dark outside. The wind blowing a hooley. Straight off the sea.  
A sound had caused him to wake but he wasn't sure what it was. 

Beside him Carol was dead to the world. Breathing evenly and deeply. Oblivious to the inclement weather outside. 

He lay still, listening. 

A low moan. 

There it was again. 

At first he thought it must be the wind, for that was what it sounded like. The mournful cry of the gusts as they whistled around the little chalet.  
No. That wasn't it.  
It was a human sound. 

Careful not to disturb his wife, Gordon slipped his legs out from beneath the covers, stretching himself before padding barefoot along the landing.  
Following the direction of the strange noise. 

Since moving here the landing lamp was now left on at night. A low wattage bulb, just to give enough light so that Sean wasn't left in the dark.  
His door always ajar, as he didn't like to be shut in either. Not anymore. Several nights when they'd been disturbed by his nocturnal cries and wanderings. 

The sound was indeed coming from his room. 

Entering as quietly as possible. Kneeling at the side of the bed, Gordon reached out a hand. Touching the pale clammy forehead.  
His son was slumbering deeply, but was crying and moaning as he slept. 

A heartrending lowing note from the depths of his skinny ribs. 

"Sean? Hey.....son....it's okay. Dad's here." 

Stroking back the carroty hair in a soothing motion. Speaking softly as he did so. 

With an intake of breath and a convulsive jerk the lad woke. 

His eyes glittering in the half light. 

"Dad?" There was terror in the young voice. 

"Shhh! It's alright wee laddie. You were dreaming is all." 

Gordon continued his gentle placatory touch. Just fingertip light against the perspiring brow. 

"I'm scared." He whispered shakily. "Don't leave me alone....please." 

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.....what you need is a dad type cuddle....here....come on... shove over....." 

Sean shifted himself against the wall allowing Gordon to slide in beside him. He was instantly sandwiched between the hot little body and Freddo as his son snuggled close. Heaving a huge sigh of relief. 

"Please stay Dad...." he murmured sleepily. Yawning and nestling into his father's muscular arms. 

Safe. Secure. Nightmares banished. 

He slept once more. 

Gordon woke again before 6am. Sweaty, uncomfortable and with a terrible crick in his neck. 

Leaving Sean dreaming peacefully on, he crept back along the landing to his own bed. 

Carol was almost exactly as he'd left her!


	20. Missing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Sean to carry out his plan. 
> 
> The only trouble is, he's found out before he can get away......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemony Snicket was out in cinemas when Sea of Souls was broadcast in case anyone wonders why I chose it! 
> 
> Several scenes of the actual show were filmed at the Mackintosh. Of course it was gloriously whole and unsullied then, not the blackened burned out shell it is now.  
> As a Capaldi story it seems fitting that it should play a small role!

CHAPTER TWENTY  
MISSING.

"Any plans for this morning sweetheart?" 

Gordon spoke through a mouthful as he crunched on a piece of toast whilst perusing the morning paper. 

"Actually, yes. I'm going over to the old house to have a look at how they're progressing. The new kitchen is arriving next week and I want to be sure everything is ready and all the wiring and plug sockets you asked for are in the correct positions. What about you?" 

"Well, I've a bit of work needs finishing up, then I thought maybe we could all go to the cinema later? Sean wants to see that Lemony Snicket film." 

Just as his father finished speaking the said son appeared in the doorway. 

"Where are you off too?" 

"Going to meet Angus." The boy hitched his rucksack higher on his shoulder. 

"I was just saying to mum that we could go to the flicks this afternoon....maybe get something to eat out too? You up for that? That film you wanted to see with Jim Carrey." 

The small freckled face gave a frown. 

"Yeah. Okay. I'll be home around half two....that okay?" 

"Breakfast before you go anywhere young man!" 

Carol smiled as she placed down a plate of sausage and bacon. With some reluctance the boy came forward, seating himself at the counter.  
He then proceeded to wolf down the food as if his life depended on it. 

"Christ Sean. You'll get guts ache eating like that." Gordon admonished. 

Slurping a glass of juice with equal speed, the child scraped back his stool and climbed down. 

"I gotta go. The bus'll be here soon." 

Without warning he flung his arms around Gordon's neck. Crushing his newspaper. 

"Oof! Wha......?" 

"Bye dad. I love you." He whispered, then turned to go. 

"Hey matey! What about Mum?" 

"Sorry.....no time! Bye mum." 

And he was gone. 

Seeing the look of frustration on his wife's face, Gordon put his arms around her. 

"He'll come round." He said softly into her hair. "He needs time to adjust is all." 

oOo

The promising morning was turning to grey as rain clouds swept across from Northern Ireland. As yet it was dry, but the threatening gloom seemed to descend.  
Carol drove out to the old house alone. 

She was annoyed. 

Cross that Sean clearly did not trust her and showed little likelihood of ever doing so. If this situation continued it might threaten her relationship with Gordon, and that was something which must not be allowed to happen. 

Turning into the lane, at the end of which their lovely home stood, began to make her feel better however.  
The front door had been replaced, and taking out her new key she let herself in. 

A delicious fresh smell of paint and plaster. Clean and bright and airy. 

This was the home she'd always dreamed of possessing. Full of character. In the most beautiful position, overlooking the beach and the sea.  
Wandering the rooms she glanced at the spot at the bottom of the stairs.....the place where she'd last seen her sister.  
"You were a jealous bitch." She said aloud to the walls. "But you lost and I won." 

Passing through to the kitchen, she checked the plug positions and the new flag stone flooring, before a slight movement caught her eye through the back window.  
Curious, she moved closer to peer out.  
Just in time to see a small ginger person disappear into the shed. 

Carol smiled to herself. 

"Gotcha. You lying little bugger!" She muttered to herself, and headed outside. 

oOo

Everything was ready. 

His treasures and essentials assembled and carefully packed. 

He was just fastening the straps of his back pack when a voice behind him almost stopped his heart. 

"Angus not at home then?" 

He froze. Terror filled eyes turning slowly to face her. 

"What a fibbing little sneak you are! Creeping about. Don't think I don't know what you're up to. Saying you're there when you're actually here. Don't worry....I spoke to Angus's mum at school the other day. She hadn't a clue what I was talking about.....hadn't seen you for a couple of weeks she said." 

The horror stricken boy remained silent. 

"Then there's the listening at the bottom of the stairs.....and the snooping through the cracks in doors.....got an eye full did you? They say that people who earwig never hear good of themselves. Did you know that? Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" 

Adrenaline began to pump through Sean's veins. The fear he now felt readying him for any eventuality. Flight or fight.  
His heart was pounding relentlessly. 

"Nothing?" She continued. "Nothing at all?" 

"I did go to see Angus....I just came here afterwards...." He began. 

He watched as her eyes hardened with fury. 

"LIAR!" She cried, bringing her hand up and striking him a sharp blow across the face. 

For a moment he stood there. Wide eyed. His hand holding one cheek which reddened beneath his palm. 

The sting made his eyes water against his will. 

"I'm not the liar here." He responded quietly. 

"Aww. Look at the little crybaby!" She taunted, moving a step closer as the boy took a step back. 

"I'm NOT crying!" His voice was shrill and fierce, green eyes blazing. 

"Wait till I tell your darling daddy what you've been up to! And you'd better not mention the slap. If you do it'll be the worse for you my man! He'll believe what mummy says.....not your tattle tales." 

Sean Fleming burst at that remark. It was as if he were a fire breathing dragon. All his anger exploded like a ball of spitting flame. 

"YOU ARE _NOT_ MY MUM!" He cried. " How dare you even pretend to be! You're an evil witch and I _HATE_ YOU!" 

Taking her completely by surprise he dodged around her and made a run for it. 

She was close behind him, right on his heels, but he didn't look back. Careering in a fast zig-zag, cutting and quartering to throw her off. Through the gate and into the field beyond. Leaping and bounding over the tussocks of grass like a jack rabbit he headed towards the dunes. 

"Come back you little shit!" He heard her yell. "Fucking come back here and I'll give you something you'll never forget." 

The wind rushed in his ears as he sprinted. Rucksack bumping up and down on his back as he flew along.  
She'd given up. There was no way she'd ever catch him now, not on foot at least. 

But he knew she had the car. So he made for where he was certain she couldn't follow in a vehicle.  
Along the beach where the sand was soft. 

He knew where there was an old upturned boat, crawling under it's rotting timbers he could hide up. Hunker down so she'd pass him by, then he could double back to catch the bus. 

Breath coming quick and short. Puffing beneath the added weight of his burden. If he could just make that place before she could reach the road, he'd be safe.  
The blood rushed in his ears, pumping his arms and legs hard to propel him forward, mouth open to suck in as much air as possible. 

He knew she was no longer behind him, that it would take her precious minutes to get back to her car.  
By then he'd be down the proverbial rabbit hole. 

Not for nothing had he carefully planned this day. 

Carol fumed. Ripping open the car door and roaring off down the lane in pursuit. By the time she reached the main road he was out of sight.  
There were several directions in which he might have headed. He knew the area like the back of his hand. She did not. 

Thinking he'd make for the village rather than run away from it, she turned right and drove that way. 

She made the wrong choice. 

Sean had barely a few moments to recover his strength, until he could see the bus coming from the top of the hill in the distance. 

Breaking cover at the last moment with one last push he made for the bus stop. Running almost alongside it with his arm out, as it pulled in for him.  
Jumping on, showing his pass, he took an empty seat and lay down across it. 

In this way Carol missed him as the vehicle past her on the bend before the village, now going in the other direction. 

It was several miles before Sean dared sit up. He was on his way. He was free. 

The bus would take him as far as Ayr. From there he could go to the station and catch the train into the City. 

As far as he was concerned there was no flaw in his plan. But it was the plan of a ten year old. 

What he was going to do when he reached Glasgow was a tad sketchy. He was a little vague about where he was going to stay, and where he was ultimately going to head after that. Although he had the notion of heading for a holiday park near Loch Lomond he'd once visited with his parents and where they'd spent a happy time.  
In reality his scheme didn't really go much beyond reaching Central Station. 

oOo

"Curse that damn sneak of a boy!" 

There was no sign of him. It was as if he'd been beamed up! 

_'Well. We'll see what he has to say for himself at 2.30 when he comes home._ ' She thought. 

She'd be there. With Gordon firmly on her side. There would be no cinema treat for him now. He'd be lucky not to be sent straight to bed with no dinner.  
Now that was something she'd endured many, many times in her own childhood. 

_'Let's see how he deals with that! Not being the golden boy.'_ She smiled to herself. 

Arriving home, Gordon was still working. 

She called him downstairs. 

"Gordon. I have to tell you. Now don't be angry, but Sean has been lying to us." 

Her husband looked confused. 

"He hasn't been meeting Angus. He's been going to the old house, after you expressly forbade him to do so. Hiding stuff in the shed. He's up to something and he wouldn't tell me what it is. When I tackled him, he ran off. What are you going to do about it?" 

She was not entirely satisfied with Gordon's somewhat sceptical expression. 

"What on earth did you say to him?" He asked, looking not a little rattled. 

"I told him off of course! He didn't like it one bit. Cheeky monkey. Took off he did. Ran away like the naughty young tyke that he is!" 

Gordon's hands were raised in surrender. 

"Alright! Well, when he comes home I'll have a word with him. Find out what's going on. Okay?" 

Still she wasn't satisfied. 

"He should be punished Gordon. He can't just do as he pleases and get away with it. That house was out of bounds for good reason. It was dangerous. He should never have gone back there. I told you, he's so dishonest these days. You never know what's in his head!" 

Gordon laughed. 

"I think you're over reacting sweetheart! You know how he's been dying to get back to his wee room. He's a ten year old boy! There's no malice in him!" 

"He said some very rude, unkind things to me." She retorted, sounding almost like a child herself. "It's not on....I'm his mother!" 

"Good Lord Carol! Don't tell me he answered you back! What kid doesn't do that occasionally? Yes, it's bad, but he's had a barrel full lately, it's hardly a hanging offence.....and he's found you hard work since you've been home. You said it yourself. It's why _You_ suggested the counselling! Love....it'll never work out if you lose your temper with him all the time! Stop making him out to be a villain! What's wrong with you? You used to be so patient with him!" 

"So! That's it is it? You're going to take his part against me?" 

A sigh left him, and he put an arm around her shoulder. 

"I'm not taking anyone's part. Okay? This isn't a competition. You seem determined to put us at loggerheads. Why? It doesn't make sense. But hey, I will speak to him when he comes home. See what he's got to say for himself. But he's not on trial love! He's a kid!" 

oOo

At half past two when Sean did not appear. Gordon was faintly annoyed. 

At half past three, he was ringing all his son's friends to find out if they'd seen him. Including Angus and his parents.  
Angus confirmed that he had indeed seen Sean earlier in the day but that he'd said he was going to the cinema later and had to get off home. 

By four o clock Gordon was frantic. He telephoned the police. Who sent a local Bobby to the chalet. 

"Has there been a family argument or anything that might cause him to be afraid to come home?" 

Gordon glanced at Carol. 

"He's had a traumatic time recently." He admitted. "And there was an accident a couple of days ago. He almost drowned." 

He looked across to his wife again. 

The police officer paused over his notepad, regarding the Flemings with a suspicious eye. 

"Well. I'm sure he's just playing truant, or has forgotten the time. The vast majority of children who go missing are found within the first couple of hours, safe and sound and wondering what all the fuss is about." He stated, none too convincingly. 

As the afternoon waned and it began to get dark, Gordon Fleming slowly fell apart. 

While his wife sat, smoking a cigarette, silent and morose. He paced.

"He's doing this to spite me." She muttered to herself, tamping out the butt in an ashtray. 

"Where the fuck can he be?" Gordon groaned, for the umpteenth time, ignoring her completely. Her seemingly cold detachment irritated and confused him. He knew that in the past shutting herself off was sometimes her way of dealing with troubles, but this was Sean....her beloved son. 

Worse still he began to consider the argument between Carol and his son earlier that day. 

Was she telling him everything? Had something else happened? It was too terrifying to contemplate and he dared not voice it. 

He called Douglas Monaghan. 

Who, in turn called Nick Crowther. 

The detective's heart sank as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. He felt physically sick. 

Seeking out Rhona, he broke the news. 

"Sean Fleming is missing."

Seeing her face change. Blanching white, clasping a hand over her mouth to stifle an intake of breath. 

"Oh God!" Crowther let out a low moan. "Please don't let me have another little broken body to find somewhere. I can't take anymore." 

"Where on earth would he go? If he ran away I mean?" She demanded of no one in particular. "Or has he been taken? Or has that bloody woman done something to him?" 

She turned to her superior with a stricken expression. 

"Oh Christ! Sir...what if we let her go the other day and she really did leave him to drown......and now she's actually got rid of him for good this time? Surely she wouldn't risk it....she'd know we'd be on to her straight away." 

The detective shook his head. 

"No. For once I don't think she'd be that stupid. But that child was scared of her, that much is certain. I'm going to contact Social Services. Get that Pauline Campbell down here, the one who was counselling him. He trusted her. You know what I think Rhona....I think he's done a runner." 

"Do you remember the day we went to the house, Skip? When they were playing happy families?"

Crowther nodded. 

"Can't forget it."

"He asked me if we'd come to arrest his mother. Now why would he do that? I thought it an odd thing to say at the time......but, you know what.....it was like he was hopeful we had......if he were really frightened enough to try to run away, where would he head? If I were a ten year old boy, where would I go?" Jameson pondered, her chin resting on her hands.  
"I'd go somewhere familiar, where I felt safe. Maybe to someone I know or that I trust. Perhaps a person in authority, someone who would care....who might listen." 

"You're a very intuitive lass you know Rhona....." Her boss remarked thoughtfully. 

"......meanwhile we'll organise a search. Starting at the place he was last seen, working outwards from there, we'll be methodical and we'll be thorough.....and we will damn well find that child unharmed." 

.....

Whilst his wife remained at home, insisting on being practical and positive, waiting by the phone, making endless cups of coffee, or staring vacantly into space, Gordon got into the car and drove.  
He had to feel he was doing something. 

He couldn't sit there with her a moment longer. He headed first to the old house. Then into the village to speak to anyone he met there. Knocking on doors.  
Calling on Angus, who was very upset and cried copiously, constantly apologising for what wasn't his fault.  
It seemed that Sean had confided in no one. 

It was very dark now, and for obvious reasons that very fact heightened the fear and trepidation. 

The thought of his little boy, out there somewhere, all alone. Possibly frightened. Almost certainly upset, drove Gordon almost to madness. 

Sitting in a lay-by he bent over the steering wheel, and began to cry. 

He wept until he couldn't breathe. 

His boy. He'd failed him.  
Failed to protect him. The most precious thing in his life. 

This had been somehow caused by Carol. Of that he was now certain. In his mind he was now sure that Carol was ill. She needed help. He was convinced she was not telling him the truth, but now wasn't the time to tackle that particular problem. Right now all he wanted was his son back. 

Turning the car around he made for home. Carol was still sitting in the kitchen, but was weeping quietly. 

By now it was eight o clock. 

oOo 

_"The train at platform one is the 15.17 to Glasgow Central, calling at Troon, Prestwick, Irvine, Kilwinning, Glengarnock, Paisley Gilmour Street for Glasgow International Airport, and Glasgow Central. Change at Kilwinning for ferry services from Ardrossan and Largs."_

No one gave him a second glance as he boarded the train alone. His face felt numb and a livid bruise was appearing. It confirmed to him that he'd made the right decision.  
Settling himself in a vacant seat. Munching on some of the emergency snacks he'd packed in his rucksack, to stave off creeping hunger and the lack of his usual lunch. 

Stepping out of the carriage at Central Station, Sean hoisted his, now slightly lighter, backpack and wondered where to go next.  
The journey had taken roughly one hour, it was now well past the time he'd been expected home. 

So they'd all know he was missing. 

The shops in Buchanan Street were still busy. He wandered until he found a burger place on the corner Sauchiehall Street, where he bought a cheeseburger, some chips and a coke.  
Lingering over them as long as he could. 

He was now realising the fatal flaw in his plan. 

Where was he to stay the night? Getting here was really the objective, and now he was here, he wasn't sure what to do next.  
Idly he wondered where Dr Monaghan lived. Although he and his dad had stayed there a couple of days before, he was too tired and distraught to note the journey or even care where the house was located. On that occasion he was just relieved to feel safe. 

He wasn't sure if he had enough money to stay somewhere like a Travelodge or a premier inn, and he didn't want to draw attention to himself by trying to book in alone. 

By 10pm he was extremely frightened. 

People were coming and going from pubs and bars. Some were drunk. He didn't feel at all safe.  
Eventually his feet took him up the long hill to where the Art School was situated. Here he at least felt he was entering more familiar territory.

He'd been here many times before with his mother. 

The place fascinated and delighted him. But that was in daylight. When his mum was beside him, holding his hand.  
Now he was just a lost and lonely boy.  
The vast edifice was mostly dark and pretty much deserted, the main door closed and bolted, but he knew the entrance which his mum used when she lectured, so he crept around the side until he found it.  
Inside the building was eerie and quiet. The classrooms, studios and lecture halls empty. Perhaps there would be a corner somewhere where he could lie low until such time as he could make his way out of the city and head to the Holiday and Caravan park. 

The summer vacation they'd spent there as a family was idyllic. A golden, joyous time in his mind. One of sunshine and laughter. Where he was happy, loved, and most of all, wanted. 

The man there would remember him. 

Mr McBride. 

He'd nicknamed Sean 'Rufus' because of his red hair. Gave him ice cream and taught him how to play draughts. 

Yes. They would take him in, he and his wife.....they'd liked him.....he was sure of it. 

It was almost midnight now and Sean was so very tired. He felt he could almost sleep standing up.

Opening a door at the end of a long corridor, which appeared to be a staff room, he found it contained some armchairs and a leather couch. Providing he was up and gone before daybreak, no one need know he was ever there.  
So he snuck inside, made himself a rudimentary bed and curled himself up. No creaks or rattles or spooky noises would disturb him. He no longer cared what became of him. His utter desolation complete. 

He missed his mum so terribly. No one knew he cried for her every single night. 

More than anything he wished to feel the warmth of his dad beside him. Held close and secure. Listening to his breathing. Smelling his friendly dad type scent....a hint of After Shave or soap. Feeling the stubble on his father's chin, rough against his cheek. 

Eyes so heavy now. Freddo tucked in his embrace....because Freddo smelled of Gordon too, and that was comforting at least.  
All the many fears and troubles of the past few weeks weighing him down and down. Like when he was in the sea, pulling him under. Sinking into an inky blackness from which there was no return.  
Tears dried on his face. His sobs fading. 

In minutes he was dead to the world. 

So deeply asleep that he was not even woken by the beam of the security guard's torch as he made his rounds at 1am. 

Patrolling the corridors with his faithful labrador, Bella, as per usual, the night watchman, an ex copper of many years service, was more surprised than he could possibly say to find the youngster there. 

"Well well!" He whispered to himself, scratching his head at the sight of the grubby wee scrap who lay, clutching a teddy to his breast, dozing soundly. "What do we have here then!"


	21. Lost and Found.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon is in a complete state with Sean missing. 
> 
> Sean makes a startling confession as to why he ran away. 
> 
> Rhona Jameson suddenly has an idea which may be a turning point in the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning! 
> 
> Sean's reason for running is quite acceptable to his ten year old brain. But it's harrowing that he felt that way. 
> 
> Rhona has a brilliant idea, which could just help crack the case.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.  
LOST AND FOUND.

Gordon did not go to bed. 

There was no way he'd sleep anyway. 

No rest or respite could he find. 

As the hours ticked by he began to dread the ring of the phone almost as much as he prayed for it. 

A numbness settled over him. Unable to face the thought that his son may not be found alive. Or may never be found at all. 

Couldn't bear to think it. 

His hands shook as if he were suffering from battle fatigue. Barely able to function. 

Carol was unable to comfort him, nor he, her. They circled each other like cornered pack dogs. Avoiding contact. 

At 2.30am his phone drilled. It was so sudden that he almost leapt out of his skin. Coming out of his torpor. 

He picked it up. Looking at the screen dumbly. Carol came to stand beside him, their eyes locked. 

"Answer it Gordon." She said. 

She saw him swallow as he lifted the contraption to his ear. 

"Hello. Gordon Fleming." 

Carol held his arm as he listened. Tears streaming down her cheeks unchecked. 

She watched his face crease before he burst into howls of hysterical weeping. Sinking down to his knees on the floor.  
Bent over himself, taking his wife down with him, leaning her cheek against his back. Her arms tightly encircling. His whole body jerking as it was wracked with heaving sobs. 

"He's been found.....he's okay......" He managed to stammer out, then promptly vomited all over the carpet. 

oOo

 

What a lost wee tyke the boy looked when Nick and Rhona reached the Art School. 

No one was more relieved than they to receive the phone call......

"Who was that?" 

"The night watchman at the Mackintosh.....he's found a young boy with ginger hair fast asleep in one of the staff rooms...." 

Rhona gave a compulsive explosion of emotion. Both hands over her mouth in an effort to hold it in.

Detective Crowther opened his arms wide.

"Hug?" He offered. 

She nodded emphatically and allowed herself to be embraced. 

"Oh! Thank God!" He whispered. Then released his grip. "Let's go down there and fetch him." 

......

When they arrived the child was seated in the little security office which was really no more than a cupboard. But it was warm and cozy. Bella the dog by his side. Warm nose resting on his leg. His eyes were wide and frightened. Looking all about him nervously.  
He was drinking a cup of cocoa from his finders flask. A brown moustache on his top lip. 

It was perfectly obvious he'd only recently ceased crying....hovering on the brink of starting up again. 

The detective looked down on him. 

"My! But you are giving me a great deal of trouble young man!" He said, good naturedly. "Come on! Let's get you to the station, and we'll see what's what eh?" 

"Are you going to put me in prison?" He asked tearfully. 

"Now why would we do that?" Rhona knelt in front of him, taking his hand in hers. 

"Because I've done so many bad things." 

The boy broke down. 

All the way to the station, seated next to the woman police officer, he sobbed helplessly into her uniform jacket. 

It was almost 4am. 

He was taken to the family suite, which contained sofas with cushions with a fleece throw blanket and nicely coloured walls, cheerful paintings hung there. A basket of toys and a drinks and sweets dispenser. Designed for use when children were brought in either for their own misdemeanours or because their parents were being questioned. 

"Your mum and dad are on the way Sean. We sent a car for them. Okay? They'll be here soon." 

"Dad'll be so angry with me." He wept, shaking with cold brought on by shock and tiredness. 

"Trust me son.....he'll be anything but!" The DS replied, smiling encouragingly, before wrapping him into the fleece tucking it around his body almost tenderly. "We've asked your nice counsellor Pauline to come over too. We thought you might like to have her here with you." 

The small freckled face brightened momentarily. 

People came and went as they all waited. Seemingly expecting something momentous to happen. 

Rhona watched him carefully, whilst speaking to him reassuringly. He clutched Freddo to him the whole time. 

"Is he your favourite?" She asked gently. 

"Mum says I'm a big baby." He replied, which didn't really answer the question. 

"Why? I have my ted....like I told you last time.....he's special.....but I'm not a baby." 

"If she knew why I had him she wouldn't say it. But she doesn't. How could she?" 

Before the police constable could ask more, he seemed to clam up. Unwilling to speak further. 

Sitting there, looking about him. Wide eyed, alert and constantly close to tears. Swinging his legs nervously.  
Clearly desperately tired but unable to give in. 

Not a sound could they extract from him as to why he'd run. Not until he saw Pauline Campbell's face peeping around the door. 

His relief was palpable. 

It was then that the flood gates really opened. 

His tearful confession. Seeking reassurance and absolution. 

"They'll send me to prison for what I've done." 

"No Sean. They won't." 

"But I stole money from Dad's penny pot. And I told so many lies." 

His fingers clutched his rucksack, kneading the material as if there was nowhere left to hide. 

"What's in there?" Rhona asked, in an attempt to diffuse the situation and ease his coiled tension. 

"My treasures." 

"May I see?" 

Looking dubiously into her eyes the boy appeared to be trying to decide whether he could trust these people after withholding that faith in others for so long. Apparently deciding he should, he began to produce his artefacts one by one as if they were sacred. 

Nick Crowther joined the little team to peruse these items. 

The postcard wrapped in tissue. Shells and stones, carefully painted. His books, and lastly the photo albums. 

These were of particular interest. 

The detective turned the pages carefully. Looking closely at the snaps they contained. 

"She thinks they were all burned." The boy said quietly. "But I saved these....from before. Hid them. So Auntie Helen wouldn't get them. She stole them. But I stole them back." 

Pauline took Sean's hands in her own. 

"Sean. I think it's time you told us what all this is about. Don't you?" 

"You won't believe me.....because I'm just a kid.....I don't know nuthin'" 

"I think you know more than all of us put together." Rhona remarked. "I think you are a very bright and clever boy, and I think that when you tell us, we'll not only believe you, but be able to help you too." 

Glancing at Mrs Campbell again. 

"Putting on my oxygen mask?" He whispered, beginning to sniffle violently again. 

"Yes Sean. Definitely." She replied kindly. 

The bottom lip began to wobble. Fresh tears springing in the already red and bloodshot eyes.  
The boy was exhausted.  
Mentally and physically drained. 

But they knew he needed to speak. To tell all this stuff. To get it off his chest. 

He looked at Pauline with his swimming green eyes brimming over. Huge orbs of deep sorrow. 

"My mum's dead." He said quietly. Then broke down completely. 

As if admitting this momentous information aloud made it suddenly real. 

Out came the sentences. One by one. A stream of garbled words accompanied by a snotty nose, mucous, saliva and huge fat tears.  
An outpouring which, once begun, could not be stopped. 

"She killed her.....Auntie Helen. I know she did. She's not my mum.....she could never be my mum.  
I knew right from the start pretty much. The second day. When she tied my shoelaces.....I knew for definite." 

"Your shoelaces?" Crowther shot a glance at PC Jameson. 

"Yes. She ties them a different way to how mum used to." 

"And she doesn't know anything about Freddo. He meant nothing to her....and he would wouldn't he? She'd understand. But she didn't. I know she's not my mum. I KNOW IT!" 

His helpless sobs rang around the room. Desperate heaving tearing outbursts. 

"Sean, why have you never confessed what you've told us to your dad?" 

The eyes grew wider, if that was possible. A deeply entrenched fear. 

"NO!" He cried. "I can't.....not ever...." 

"But why not?" 

His small fingers clutched the arms of the counsellor, gripping hard. 

"Because he's so _happy_!" 

"What?" 

"He loves her so much....how could I say it? I'd make him miserable....I can't do that. He loves her and he's so happy.....he was very unhappy before.....and now he's got that back.....he smiles when he's with her.....they kiss a lot.....just like they did once ages ago. I want him to be happy again...he's my dad. I love him." 

Burying his face in his hands the boy dissolved into a boneless heap. As the stunned police officers and therapist sat by. 

All this time. Enduring this terrible knowledge. Being burdened with the huge weight of his certainty and keeping it all to himself. 

Until finally it became too much and his only recourse was to run away.  
To leave his parents together without him. 

_Because he wanted his dad to be happy....._

"She doesn't want me you see. I'm in the way. She just wants dad. That's why she hit me, she was so angry. She doesn't love me....but why should she? She's not my mum. That's why I decided to leave. So they would be happy together. Without me there." 

"So that's the mark on your face eh? She smacked you one?" Crowther was horrified. 

The boy nodded feebly. His fingers coming to rest against his cheek and stroking there, where the bruise from his Aunt's hand was still visible. 

"But Sean. Where were you going to go? And what about your dad.....you'll break his heart...." 

"I was going to head for the Holiday Park. Mr and Mrs McBride were kind....they'd let me stay.....then everyone would be happy." 

Rhona turned her back and wiped her eyes. 

Even hardened Nicholas Crowther was mute with the enormity of the torment this small child must have suffered. 

Leaving the boy in Mrs Campbell's capable hands, a stunned Rhona and Nick repaired to the office. 

"We'll need photos of Sean's face for the book. Make sure it's done Rhona, please." 

Nodding, the PC looked down at her own hands, still trying to get her head around what she'd just heard. 

It was only then she realised she was still holding the postcard from Sean's treasure trove. 

She looked down at it. Carefully wrapped as it was. Almost untouched by hands other than Sean and his mother. 

"Good god!" 

Her exclamation was like being hit by a bolt of lightning. 

She almost shouted aloud. Making her boss jump. 

"Sir....I have just had a thought.....an idea.....it may be completely nuts.....but.....oh Jesus!" 

Her face became so animated that DS Crowther thought she was about to explode. 

"This card." 

Her colleague raised his eyebrows quizzically. 

"Eh?"

"Well it's something that Helen Reid has never touched. Right?" 

"Er, yeah. I guess." 

"I mean, the postman would have touched it and a dozen other people probably, but never Helen." 

"Rhona....you'll not retrieve any viable prints from that card! It's a waste of fucking time! Think again." 

The policewoman tutted in frustration. 

"No! Sir.....you're not getting it......what else should Helen Reid never have touched?" 

Nick was at a loss. 

"What on earth are you driving at woman?" 

"The dental records Skip! I'm thinking.....the dentist may have touched them...possibly a receptionist....but no one else. So if we look at the dental records of Carol Fleming and Helen Reid....her prints shouldn't be on either. But if.....as Monaghan told us he suspected.....she did swap them.....then.....bingo!" 

She held out both hands in barely contained excitement. 

"We have her prints to compare. If we find the same ones on the records...?" 

"But this is the 21st century. They'll be on computer, not on paper." 

Jameson shook her head emphatically. 

"Not the x-rays no! They'll be in a cardboard file somewhere at the surgery. Also the computer would give us a date when the records were last examined or altered. Our tech guys can access the last log in to each individual file which comes up automatically....." 

Her boss looked sceptically at their eager face. Frowning apologetically as he didn't want to rain on her parade. 

"But you'd need a password to access patient's individual data, Helen Reid isn't a computer hacker, she's just a....well.....she wouldn't know how.....plus she'd have a few minutes to break in at most." 

"But she wouldn't need to be would she? The computer would be right there on the desk beside the dentist as he added the notes of her consultation. Or his assistant did. When you're examined he calls out the relative information and the practice nurse enters it on the file. She'd only need to create a distraction. A few minutes would be all she'd require." 

"Christ! You just might be right.....!" 

Light at the end of the tunnel.  
Her boss suddenly felt that this long frustrating case of one way streets and dead ends may have finally reached a breakthrough. 

".......I'll get on to the powers that be straight away. See if I can rustle up a warrant. Meanwhile, go and see if the Flemings have arrived. I want to talk to Mr F myself before they see their son.  
Oh....and give Monaghan a wake up call, or leave him a message to come to the station ASAP. I want him here to confirm certain points."

"Yes, Sir." 

"I think we might be able to procrastinate for a few more hours here, so that we can check those records before we have to let the Flemings go. I don't want that boy going home with that woman, and I'll pull some strings if I have to, to prevent it happening. Say we need the medics to check Sean over first, make sure he's fit to be allowed home, or that Social Services will have to be informed so that they can decide if he's vulnerable or at risk and should be taken into temporary Care, I want her to know we're suspicious....whatever you can fucking think of Rhona....any excuse." 

He could sense that the young police constable was concerned at this decision. 

"They're his parents sir, surely they have a right to see their child? Can we stop them?" 

"If we are worried about a child's safety then we have every right. That kid has confessed that he was so terrified of his 'mother' it was enough to make him plan for weeks to run away from home. We also know she hit him. She may possibly have stood by with the intention of watching him drown. I'd say we have more than enough rights, wouldn't you?" 

As her superior officer, with years of valuable experience, Rhona Jameson looked up to Detective Sergeant Crowther. His innate honesty and integrity was something to be admired. 

He cared. Simple as that. 

In Sean Fleming he saw a young person who needed help. A kid who had been let down by adults around him who he should be able to turn to and confide in. It made him angry.  
Somewhere out there, was also a family mourning the death of a promising young artist. A great loss of a young man with a bright future. Ended cruelly on the blade of a knife.  
Laying back in the mortuary was the charred body of a sister, wife, mother possibly. Nick wanted the bloody truth.  
Justice for those who could not seek justice for themselves. 

That was enough. 

"Yes sir. You're absolutely right. I'll find the dentist's home number and contact him. He can jolly well get out of bed early and meet us at his surgery. I'll also see if Jan at reception can find us some really strong coffee to keep us going too! I don't know about you but I could do with a caffeine fix!


	22. Evidence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the dentist surgery reaps rewards for Crowther and Jameson. A chain of events is being set in motion.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is my homage to the beautiful city of Glasgow. 
> 
> The wheels are slowly coming off....

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.  
EVIDENCE. 

The City turned over in its bed, pulled up it's virtual duvet and groaned..... _too early_ ......just a few more minutes! 

Driving in silence. Rhona Jameson in the passenger seat beside him. Staring glumly out of the window. 

Words seemed inappropriate somehow. As if they were both on the brink of something momentous but neither wanted to put voice to it, in case it crumbled and dissipated before them like smoke on the wind. 

Nicholas Crowther reflected that he'd seen far too many early mornings this last month or so. 

The weak, feeble sun lifting its weary head over the tops of the buildings, as if yawning along with the populace and reluctantly stirring into action. Flooding everything with a golden orange glow.  
Reflected back in the glass windows of the tallest. 

The sandstone edifices of yesteryear. 

Some 'blonde', the colour of cheese or buttermilk, others roseate red, like a fine wine or a ripe apple. 

When he grew up there were rows and rows of tenements made of this russet coloured stone. Blocks of seething humanity which teemed with scruffy children and mothers in their aprons scrubbing the step. The men working shifts in the mighty shipyards. Boozers full on payday.  
He was luckier than most, his father worked for the old British Rail at the locomotive repair works in Springburn. His mother was employed in the Singer factory, now demolished. They both worked so fucking hard, and it was so they could give him, their only surviving child, the best. 

Poor, but proud. 

Those days were all but gone now, along with most of those homes. 

Another world. 

Regeneration. 

Now, as he drove across the slowly waking city, the soaring tip of the university peeped through dazzling cubes of modernity.  
Bathed in a fan of yellow rays as if celestial, this monument to the Gothic Revival looking like a benign grandfather, smiling down over the sweep of the River Kelvin as it wound its way through the leafy parkland beneath.  
Kelvingrove Museum puffed out its chest below it, exuberant with its multiple cupolas and finials. A rare exotic bird of paradise with all its grand plumage on display.  
Baroque mingling with botanicals!  
A heady mix for a city that was, quite rightly, not afraid to be ostentatious. 

Drawing his eyes away, he headed onto the M8 now, the city's aorta. 

Effectively carving its centre in two. 

An elevated highway, raised up on damn great concrete viaducts. 

The town planners pipe dream which in spite of all its good intentions, ended up as a gigantic, unfinished, fuck up. 

An artery with an aneurysm. 

Legal battles and politics had wrangled for decades, much discussion and endless posturing. 

Never to be completed when the funds ran out. Probably forever to remain the road to nowhere. A bottleneck of mammoth proportions during rush hour, as everyone tried to funnel up or down the Kingston Bridge. 

Thankfully Nick could turn off before this snarl up, skirting around Trongate and the Barrowland towards Parkhead where the dental practice was situated.  
Almost opposite the structural grandeur of Celtic Park. A mighty colossus in brick and steel.  
Paradise.  
For those who wanted it that is. 

As he parked the car, another pulled in almost behind him, and another behind that. 

A rather disgruntled dental practitioner climbing out of the first. Followed by the IT tech expert and a member of the Forensic department with his finger print kit from the second. 

oOo

"Sorry to have called you in so early. But I have a warrant to search your records." 

The two men shook hands cordially. Although the dentist looked more than a little put out. 

Taking out his large bunch of keys he unlocked the premises and the subdued group all filed inside. 

"What exactly is it you are looking for?" He asked. "Only we've had no break ins or problems whatever." 

"As my colleague explained on the phone, we are investigating a murder case in the City. There is a possible connection between our suspect and this surgery. We think there's a possibility that some records may have been tampered with." 

The practitioner scoffed. 

"No way!" He responded with certainty. "We've had no breaches here. Our systems are secure." 

"You'll forgive me...." Crowther gave a little smile. "No system is completely foolproof. You can have all the firewalls in the world, but a bit of ingenuity will easily scupper your protocols." 

A moment of uneasy silence passed between them, as the orthodontist logged into the computer at the main reception desk. 

"So you have this computer linked to another in your consulting room?" The detective asked.

"Yes. But the appointments diary is entirely separate from the patient records. With a different password. We create a record for each patient. I examine them and dictate my findings to the nurse, who fills in the details on a pre set form straight away. The file also contains a copy of any X rays we take, extractions, tooth condition etc. Which patient are we interested in?" 

"Two actually." Nicks eyes watched the screen over the man's shoulder. "Carol Fleming and Helen Reid....once you have the first one up, my associate will take over. Now.....where are your actual X rays kept?" 

A small store cupboard lined with shelves was situated just beside the consultation room. 

"I'd like to look at your appointment diary too if that's okay. I need to establish the day Helen Reid visited you and was examined." 

"That's easy enough to do. I'll look it up for you in a moment. All appointments are logged and saved for future reference and for ease in sending out follow ups. It won't take a minute." 

Crowther noted the store room was not locked and had no keypad entry code. Presumably the practice didn't feel that this was necessary, he commented sourly. 

"Well no, not really. We hardly ever need to come in here. We view the results on the computer mainly. These are only kept for reference. Here are all the prints from the dental X Rays taken. Filed in alphabetical order." 

Directing his SOCO colleague to the relevant boxes, labelled DEF and PQR the Detective Sergeant left him to it. 

The two men returned to reception. As promised it took mere seconds to access the diary. 

"Right....here are the appointments for week commencing the 3rd. Helen Reid is registered as a new patient. She came in for a first consultation on the 6th at 11am." 

Nick turned to Rhona. 

"Tell Bill it's the 6th we're interested in." He said. 

Nodding nervously, she left the room. 

Peering eagerly over the technician's shoulder as he tapped the keys with the confidence of a man who knows what he's about, she could not take her eyes from the screen. This was all her idea. It could be an entirely fanciful notion. She could be wasting everyone's valuable time. 

"Ok. I have the file up....." Bill spoke as he scrolled the mouse, perusing the information in front of him.  
"Here she is ....Carol Fleming.....on the 6th. File last updated at 12.04." 

"Oh my Lord! I'm right!" The explosion which came from her was almost ecstatic. "Let's look at Helen Reid now." 

It was difficult to keep the thrill of excitement and urgency from her voice. She was so sure....so convinced she was on the right track....if she was wrong the disappointment now would seem doubly devastating. She could almost feel the tension rising. So close to that seminal moment she could just reach out and touch it. 

"Helen Reid. Previous appointment 24th January. Next check up due in June." He read aloud as his eyes scanned the document. "File last updated........on.....on......the 6th of this month........" his voice trailed away and he turned to look at the PC as she stood behind him. The small hand which rested on his shoulder gave a squeeze. 

"Oh my God!" She whispered.

"Sir!" Her voice seemed to stick in her own throat. "You need to see this." 

The small knot of people now gathered around the computer screen as if about to witness a rare phenomena.  
Murmurs passed among their number. 

"But how can that possibly be?" The dentist was white. "They can't have been muddled up." 

"I assume you wouldn't remember the patient details?" Crowther asked. 

"Well, no. I see dozens of clients. Hundreds over the years.....I couldn't possibly remember every mouth I look at!" 

"Could someone else have updated a file, if it wasn't on the date of an appointment?"

"Well.....it's not possible.....the receptionist only deals with appointments, she never touches the patient's records....I mean.....it can't be.....Carol wasn't having any special treatment or anything out of the routine, she just had regular check ups and hygienist 6 monthly. Her file wouldn't have even been looked at in between. Not by myself or my practise nurse. No one else would log into it." 

"Well!" The detective declared. " _Someone_ has! Just the names have been swapped, and that would take seconds. Here is Helen with a history of several years worth of treatment, and here is Carol registered as a new patient only seen for the first time that day. Presumably she never expected anyone to check." 

"Unless......" the dentist paused, terribly confused, seemingly wracking his brain. "........well, there _was_ a day......the fire alarm went off........"

"And?" 

"Well....we had to evacuate the building.....turned out to be a glitch in one of the manual wall key pads.....but I don't know which day that was......I mean......it was a few weeks ago....." 

"Well, I need to know when it was. Because if it was the 6th, round about lunchtime, I think we have our answer!" 

There was a certain satisfaction in the officer's tone now. A beagle who has caught the scent and will track it down relentlessly. 

Returning to the file store cupboard where his colleague had set up his portable testing kit, Crowther looked hopeful.  
"Anything?" 

"Prints to match those on record Sir. On both the X rays and the cover. Helen Reid and Carol Fleming. There's no doubt Sir. The person from whom these prints were taken at the station has also handled both these documents. 100% match." 

"GOTCHA!" Detective Crowther clapped his hands together in triumph. 

"Rhona?" 

"Yes Skip?" 

"You're a fucking star, and I'm recommending you for promotion to Chief Constable!" 

PC Jameson could not suppress a beaming smile. 

"Right, come on lass. Back to the station. I want to talk to Gordon Fleming." 

Leaving the rest of the crew to finish their investigations and pack up, the pair headed off through the city, back in the direction they'd come at dawn.  
Once again, neither spoke. Both lost in their own thoughts. Knowing that they were now so close. 

oOo 

On arrival at the city police station Gordon and Carol were separated, led in different directions and placed in interview rooms alone. 

He knew why. 

Whilst he could hear his wife bellowing and causing a scene, demanding to see her son, he remained quiet. 

"Your son is sleeping Mr Fleming. Be assured that someone is with him and he's safe." 

"Thank you Officer." 

Gordon took a seat on the hard unforgiving chair. Spread his arms on the table in front of him and splayed his hands. 

He felt as if he were punch drunk. Gazing about him, although there was nothing of interest in this dull grey room to see. So he stared at the blank wall.  
Through the glass porthole in the door he could see a uniformed officer on guard. 

He understood. 

Himself and Carol......they were under suspicion of abuse or neglect of their child. 

Sean already had a hospital admission in the last week and now this. 

The realisation hit him that he may possibly lose his son. It didn't bear thinking about. Pushing his thoughts away. Clearing his mind. He felt oddly numb, detached. Almost as though this were a horrible dream, from which he'd wake and everything would be fine. 

The door opened and Detective Sergeant Crowther entered. 

From somewhere down the corridor he could still hear his wife's voice. Raised and shrill. Protesting violently at the injustice. 

"Mr Fleming." 

"Detective Crowther." 

The greeting was curt and formal. Gordon knew exactly where he stood. 

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." 

"How's Sean?" 

Nick regarded the white, tired face of the man. He looked as if he'd been shattered by many blows. Barely able to function. There was a sag in his demeanour. Worn and afraid. Exhausted to distraction by the previous few hours. 

"Can I get you a tea or something?" He asked kindly. Taking a chair opposite. 

Gordon nodded dumbly, sliding his still splayed hands into the centre of the table and clasping them tightly together. 

Rising, moving to the door, the policeman opened it and spoke briefly to the constable outside, before returning to resume his seat. 

"I called Mrs Campbell." He began. "She's with Sean, taking care of him. He's told us a great deal." 

"Will I be allowed to see him?" The tone was so resigned, so subdued, as if he just couldn't comprehend how this had all happened to him, he was sitting in an interview room suspected of God knows what. A condemned prisoner with no rights whatever. 

"In a bit." Came the gentle reply. "I'm afraid we'll have to contact Social Services. Your son is a very frightened, vulnerable little boy, and I wouldn't be doing my job if didn't make absolutely sure he was safe." 

He watched the face crease. The chest begin to heave. The hands come up to the forehead, the head sinking down towards the table.  
There were no hysterics, no sound. The shoulders shook silently.  
Pausing only briefly as the door opened once more to admit the officer who entered with two cups of steaming tea, then beginning again. Tears falling and gathering on the table surface. 

A hand touched the trembling shoulder. 

"Be calm Mr Fleming. Drink this." 

Fear and anxiety was all he could read in the expression, as the two men looked at one another. 

The mien reminded him very much of the child. So similar. Eye colour almost identical. The same lost little boy look, the same deep emotion. 

Seating himself again, he waited patiently whilst Gordon drank.

"They won't take him away will they?" More in hope than expectation. "He's my life. My boy. He's everything."

"I can't say I'm afraid. Perhaps temporary foster care, until things are sorted out.....but I'm not the authority on Child Welfare. It's not my field." 

Unable to quell the grizzling, the shaking hand reached again for the tea, taking another sip before replacing it. 

"Why did he run away? I can't understand it. Why couldn't he come to me? I'm his dad....he knows how much I love him." 

The broken aspect of this father, the slump in his shoulders, the bowed head, made Crowther think of himself.  
How would he feel in this situation? He was a dad too. With kids of a similar age to young Sean.  
He would die to protect them.  
No question. 

"I think it's partly because of you he ran." 

Wide eyed horror met his gaze.  
Registering deep shock as he seemed to tense all over with suppressed desire to dash from the room, find his boy and hold him tight. 

"Because of _me_? Why? I would never hurt him.....I would never.....Oh my God!"

Standing with suddenness. Scraping the chair back. Pacing up and down rapidly. Arms flung into the air.  
The detective remained seated calmly. Again, waiting for the madness to pass. 

"You're right, and I don't think you would either.....he loves you dearly, and that's the reason. He wanted so much for you to be happy."

Gordon wiped his streaming nose with the back of his hand. Slumping back into the chair. 

"How could he possibly think that running away would make me happy?" His tone was wild now, incredulous. 

"You and Carol. He thought you'd both be happier without him." 

Burying his head in his hands the man sobbed. Unashamedly.  
"No! No! Sean! No!" He repeated over and over. 

A hand laid comfortingly on his arm again. Stilling him. 

Lifting his red rimmed eyes to the Detective, shaking his head in utter desolation. 

"I know it's been hard for him, since the fire......" He wept. "......it's been hard for us all.....but we were working it out....getting back to normal....slowly....."

Nick shook his head in disagreement. 

"Oh, I think there's much more to it than that Mr Fleming. He realised the truth." The voice dropped until it was no more than a hushed whisper. "I think he's known for some time you see."

Gordon quieted himself, sniffing. Blinking. Gazing, startled, across the table at his inquisitor. 

"Known what?" 

_"Known that she's not his mother."_


	23. More Evidence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol is being interviewed. Rhona Jameson has the measure of her.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The piece of information which Crowther always hoped for, has come to light at last. 
> 
> The hinge which tips the balance. There are tough times ahead for everyone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.  
MORE EVIDENCE.

In contrast to the dulled hush in Gordon's interview room, in Carol's it was a different story. 

Where he was quiet and resigned, she was fiery defiance. Spitting like a cornered alley cat. 

Rhona was given the irksome task of sitting in with her, whilst a male colleague stood sentinel beside the door. Her superior officer being engaged with the husband. 

"I want to see my son!" Her eyes were blazing, harsh and angry. 

The look which passed between the two women was one of challenge. She was testing the strength of her adversary. Something at which she was adept. 

"I'm afraid we can't allow that at this time." She replied quietly. 

"Why the hell not?" A fist was thumped on the table, making both the policewoman and the overseer jump. 

"Please, Mrs Fleming. You're not helping. Sit down."

"Why am I in here? Where is my husband? My son has been through a trauma. He needs his mother!  
_God!_ Take that smug look off your face!" 

Throwing her head forward until their noses were no more than six inches apart, a threatening snarl curled her lip.  
The male constable took a step closer to the pair. 

However, Jameson remained detached and professional and held the gaze of her antagonist steadily, without flinching. 

"At present he's sleeping. He's exhausted, as you can probably imagine. But also I'm afraid we don't consider it appropriate that you see him until he's been checked over and interviewed by the Social Worker." 

To her surprise Carol threw back her head and laughed, but Rhona detected a note of fear entering her voice. Lowering herself backwards into the chair. 

"Social Worker? What in God's name has he been saying to you?" Shaking her head in disbelief. "Let those interfering bastards get their claws into him and that'll be the end of it all. I know exactly how they operate, they wangle you onto their side and then they pull the rug out from under your feet!" 

"We have assessed his needs. Listened to him. We consider him a child at risk, and are therefore duty bound to act accordingly. His welfare is paramount." 

A loud scoff exploded from her lips. 

"You can't believe everything that boy says you know....he's a liar, most children are.....he's rather prone to making things up especially if he thinks it'll win him attention." 

Rhona did not bat an eyelid. 

"Well, I doubt he faked a hand print on his own face." She responded acidly. 

Only a slight widening of the eyes betrayed her. It was gone in a flash, to be replaced by scorn. 

Apparently this fact was to be bypassed or ignored completely.

"Where's Gordon? I want to talk to him. Why can't we be together, we are his parents. He's my husband."

Her aggressiveness was tempered by the even tone of her nemesis. The attempt to chip away at the policewoman's composure was failing miserably. 

"Mr Fleming is also being interviewed. Obviously we would separate you both so that you can give us your information individually. Neither of you are being accused of anything at the moment. We just want to ascertain the facts."

Again the woman laughed, shaking her red head. 

"I see! So you've already made up your minds then. Nothing I.... _we_ .....say will make any difference. We are to be labelled as child abusers. Our son taken away. Well! Why am I not surprised? I've had a lifetime of not being believed, I'm quite used to it." 

The expression on PC Jameson's face changed subtly, she leaned forward, raising an eyebrow.

"And yet you are advocating that we shouldn't believe your son? That we should take your word over his. That all children are liars? Seems to me like you've rather contradicted yourself." 

The fury which swept across the face of the woman sitting opposite her, boiled. The cheeks becoming heavily flushed. 

"Oh my, but you're a bloody clever one." She spat, the smile which crossed her lips was far from friendly. 

Yet still the constable did not alter her open expression. Continuing in the same calm manner. 

"I was led to understand your childhood was a very happy, stable one, I'm struggling to reconcile this history with your words to me now." 

Realising her stupid mistake. Carol folded her arms high across her chest. This maddeningly attractive young woman seated so demurely opposite, hands neatly folded in her lap.....now her enemy, had got the better of her without provocation. Rattled her and made her speak recklessly. Almost revealing herself.  
Her demeanour changed. Recalcitrance took over. A stubborn set to the mouth. Hardened eyes which glared menacingly, even though the officer remained unfazed. 

"I am answering no further questions until I have legal representation. If I'm to be interrogated formally, or accused of something, then I have that right. I'm allowed a Brief. I know that much. So! As they say in all the best cop shows, 'no comment'!" 

oOo

Emerging from the interview room for a welcome break, Rhona felt as if she herself had been under the microscope. 

It was exhausting being under the laser like stare of that woman. 

Heading for the coffee machine for a much needed ten minutes, she came face to face with Crowther's pathologist friend, John. 

It was still early and he looked as if he'd been dragged forcibly from his bed. Unshaven, unkempt, crinkled at the edges. 

"Are you PC Jameson?" He enquired, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. 

"I am." 

"The desk sergeant directed me to you. I'm here to see Nick....I have something I think may just possibly make his day." 

Rhona couldn't help scanning him from top to toe with her eyes, although she deigned to comment. He noticed her gaze and smiled. 

"Rough night last night......party......3am...." he said by way of explanation. 

Returning his smile Jameson nodded with a knowing laugh of acceptance. 

"Well, he's in interview room 2. I'm sure if it's that momentous then he wouldn't mind you knocking." 

.....

Detective Crowther had just delivered his bombshell to Gordon Fleming when a slight tap on the door broke his momentum. 

He was faintly annoyed at the interruption as it ruined what Nicholas was hoping would be a telling reaction.  
Telling in that he wished to gauge Gordon's level of surprise....or lack of it. 

As it was, he'd just delivered his grenade of a sentence, when a head poked itself around the door, shattering the moment. 

"Nick....sorry to disturb. But can I see you a minute? It's urgent."

He turned to the white and dumbly confused face of his interviewee. 

"Please excuse me." 

With a huff of frustration, he left the room. 

Exploding only when the door was firmly closed behind him....venting in an escape of virtual steam rather than invective, so as not to be overheard through the thin door. 

"What's the meaning of this? He hissed venomously. "I was in the middle of my big exposé. 

"Sorry mate. But this couldn't wait. I came up as soon as I found out." 

The face of his friend was eager, and not a little apologetic. 

"My office!" He barked, guiding the pathologist along the corridor briskly. 

Inside, the room looked much as it always did. As if an Exocet missile had recently hit. Somehow he seemed quite at home amid the chaos, slumping into his chair and leaning it back onto two legs, head back, eyes gazing up at the ceiling. 

Once his colleague was seated, shuffling through the raft of papers in his hands, Crowther spoke again. 

"So what is it that couldn't possibly wait until I'd completed my preliminary interview with my suspect?"  
He asked with annoyance. 

"Apologies again. But I have the report here of our examination of the internal organs of Helen Reid, and there is one particular paragraph I think you should hear." 

The detectives eyes widened slightly, eyebrows arched, but he nodded emphatically. 

"Go on...." 

_"Findings on examination of the reproductive organs of Mrs Helen Reid....."_

He read aloud, in a monosyllabic tone. Without emphasis and devoid of expression. 

_"The ovaries were found to be abnormally developed, which would be the cause of ovulatory problems and difficulty in conceiving. This might be a congenital or hereditary condition. However, the uterus histology indicates endometrial changes consistent with having previously been in a gravid state. The cervix presents with the classic oval shape also indicative of a having experienced childbirth. There is postpartum stretching of the musculature in the vaginal wall which includes a first degree tear in the perineal skin which would have occurred at the time of delivery, but which did not require stitching......"_

John paused, sitting back in his chair having finished reading from the sheet, laying it in his lap, waiting patiently for some sign of comprehension from the weary man seated across from him. 

Detective Crowther remained silent, as if trying to make sense of what he'd just heard. 

The gist of his diatribe seemed to take some time to filter through. 

"So what exactly is all that in English?" He asked, rubbing his head distractedly. 

"In layman's terms? It means she's had a baby." Came the emphatic reply. 

"That's what I thought it meant." Rebalancing his chair onto all four of its legs he leaned both hands on the desk in front of him. The fingers clasped together. Allowing the information to sink in. 

This was the piece of evidence he'd been wanting to find throughout this case. The one damning snippet which clinched the whole deal.  
Not only was it an unlooked for revelation, but it was the key which unlocked all the evidence he'd gathered over the previous weeks.  
Everything coming together, making sense. Being verified. 

A 'eureka' moment. 

All the late nights. Time spent away from his family. The leg work which he and Rhona toiled over. All fitting suddenly like the pieces of a jigsaw. 

His concern had been that the dental verification would not, on its own, be enough to secure a conviction. A good barrister could probably find a loophole. Tear it to shreds. But, taken together, this corroboration provided irrefutable proof that the woman currently languishing in interview room 4 was indeed Helen Reid. 

Very slowly a look of satisfaction began to spread across the officer's face. 

"100% certainty?" The expression was now a barely contained potential explosion of emotion and adrenaline. 

"Absolutely!" Handing over the report. "There's not a shadow of a doubt. She's given birth at least once." 

Crowther rose from the seat, crossing the room, turning his back on his colleague. Standing beside the window, gazing out.  
Suddenly the euphoria faded, he felt terribly sad. It was all so horribly final. 

That was it. 

It was over. 

Taking a deep breath, holding it, his eyes filled and spilled over. 

A hand came to rest gently on his right shoulder. 

"Eee! Man.....it's okay! At least you know now. That poor woman lying back there on the mortuary slab, it's Carol Fleming. For sure." 

"Aye." The detective sniffed back his tears, wiping his nose, grateful for the squeeze from those comforting fingers. "And now I've got to go and tell that poor bastard in interview room 2 that his wife is definitely dead." 

"You don't think he knew then?" 

Detective Crowther shook his head mournfully. 

"Honestly? Nah, I don't. I think he wanted it to be Carol so much that he convinced himself it was her. Anything else seemed to horrible to contemplate. Think of it John. The ramifications! To admit to himself she was Helen was to admit that Helen had probably killed his wife. He didn't even entertain it.  
Monaghan'll be vindicated at least. He knew right from the start." 

Shrugging away the comforting hand, Nick puffed out his chest and readied himself for what was to come.

"Well. Here goes. Fuck but being a policeman sucks sometimes." 

"That's one of the worst parts of the job mate. But someone has to do it, and someone has to win justice for the victim too." 

Nick nodded, turning to face the pathologist. 

"I know. But I've also got to tell him that the woman he thought was his wife, whom he's been living with, sleeping with......is actually her sister.....the evil twin whom I have no doubt brutally murdered the love of his life, the mother of his child.....who may also have killed a man....maybe two.....fuck my fucking life!" 

oOo

In the warm comfort of the family suite Pauline Campbell watched over her young charge. 

Almost his last words to her before he drifted off into an uneasy sleep were heartbreaking. 

"I've ruined everything haven't I? No one will ever be happy again now." 

In slumber he really was an angelic boy. His skin so delicate and pale. The little freckles upon it dotted randomly here and there over his cheeks and nose. 

The clear green eyes, closed now, were crusted around the long, fair lashes from crying. 

Looking incredibly young. Younger certainly, than his ten years. 

From time to time he'd give a jerk in his dreams. A little whimpering sound coming from him. Pulling the rather battered teddy bear tightly into his embrace.  
Reaching across she let her hand drift through his short carroty hair gently. Stroking until his breathing evened out again and he settled deeper into relaxation. 

What an awful lot this poor child had taken upon his small shoulders. 

How had he even coped for this long? 

Ill equipped as he was for his task. 

She sincerely hoped that time would heal the scars he now bore. It would take a good deal of time, she considered.  
He would continue to need help to make sense of it all. 

But experience told her how resilient the young could be. How they seemed to come to terms with such momentous events, to carry on with an innate positivity and hopefulness.  
In her heart of hearts she was sure that Sean Fleming would manage that healing. 

He would emerge from all of this and be happy and whole again. 

It was fully daylight now. 

Feeling irrepressibly weary, she yawned. Reaching in a pocket for her mobile. 

Moving away from the sleeping boy, she dialled her mother. 

"Hiya Mum, it's me." 

"Darling! How are things? How is the wee man?" 

"Sleeping. He's exhausted. How's my own wee man?" 

"He's just having breakfast before we leave for school, want to say a quick hello?" 

"Please.....and thank you mum, so much, for taking care of him at such short notice for me." 

"Oh tush! I'm glad to do it. You were badly needed there, that little boy trusts you. It's wonderful, what you do. I'll put him on...hold on a mo. ALEX! Come quick! Mum's on the phone!" 

A pause. 

"Hi Mum." 

"Hello sweetheart. How's things?" 

"Good thanks. Nan cooked me a great breakfast. Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine. Tired. But I wanted to tell you how much I love you." 

"I love you too Mum. I'll see you when I get home won't I? You'll be back by then?" 

"Hope so." 

"Ok....well, bye for now then." 

"Bye Alex. Have a good day at school." 

"I will. Nan says to say bye."

And he was gone. 

Pauline gave a sigh and felt suddenly rather emotional. How lucky she was. 

She never realised it more than right at this moment. 

Very, very lucky indeed.


	24. The Dead Can Speak.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon finally knows the awful truth.....it almost breaks him
> 
> .......then he is reunited with his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of realisation, for both father and son. The culmination of all the hard police work.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.  
THE DEAD CAN SPEAK.

Gordon Fleming sat in the stark room staring dumbly, first at his own hands, as if he'd never seen them before, then at the Detective Sergeant who hovered nearby unsure as to the reaction his words might illicit. 

The man resembled someone who had been close to an explosion, waiting for his hearing to return. 

The blast having rocked him to the core. 

His face a mask. Unreadable. Deathly white. Mute of speech as he listened to the terrible truth. 

Fortunately Crowther could not see what was going on inside his head. 

The turmoil of his thoughts, as scenes replayed themselves in his mind like a reel to reel film from the silent era. 

Staccato, flickering black and white images, the speed of movement exaggerated.  
Chaplinesque. Almost comical to view, were it not so despicable. 

Walking along the beach holding her hand. Being in the kitchen with her as they cooked together. Sipping on glasses of wine. Laughing, the three of them.  
Playing with their son.....except he wasn't their son was he? 

Gordon tried to stop the memories flooding his brain, but he couldn't. 

It was as if they mocked him.  
Seated there.  
Motionless.  
Unable to move his trembling hands which lay palms down in front of him as if nailed to the table top.  
His vision blurred as tears snaked down both cheeks. Two salty rivers which fell as he blinked, hanging on his lashes before following the same path, dropping down the front of his blue denim shirt with a soft pat. 

Then a creeping, bone chilling horror which threatened to engulf him. A cloud of the vilest, blackest thoughts imaginable which took away the very breath from his lungs. Making him struggle for air, clutching at his neck as if being throttled.

Because he could actually feel the touch of her skin.  
Her arms around his waist. Her lips pressed to his. The sickly sweetness of her words. 

Nausea began to rise.  
It began in the pit of his stomach.  
A twisting clawed fist which seemed to punch his gut, further winding him. 

Her naked form, astride his body. His wrists tied. Touching him everywhere as he begged her for more.  
Seeing himself as if from above. Terribly afraid and yet craving the excitement.  
A willing captive. Enduring the pain. It was as if he were experiencing it again. At that very moment. 

The agony of suffering. 

The vicious sting of his nipples. The raging burning of his buttocks. Her vicelike grip around his genitals. Being taken, entered, whilst the liquid honey of her voice poisoned his mind. 

Punished and denied. Toyed with and brought to the brink of madness. Desperate and pleading.  
Seeing the satisfied look on her face as he surrendered himself completely to her bidding. 

Evil. Like some played out Hammer Horror satanic ritual. 

Then, lastly, as if to further compound his utter despair, the vision of his son's terror stricken anguished face as he thrashed in the sea. His look of hopelessness as he disappeared beneath the waves. 

Horrible. Hateful. Wicked and deceitful woman. 

Bile rose in his throat and for the second time in as many days, he vomited. 

This time it flew from him as if propelled from his insides. His body anxious to be rid of the vile toxins. Shooting across the table, hitting the wall and trickling down.  
His own legs spattered, his shoes. Crowther's shoes too. It was everywhere.

Falling onto all fours on the floor. Coughing and retching as if his body would expel his very soul. 

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" 

Nick Crowther ignored the foul projectile. Wading straight in. Kneeling beside him in the mess as he threatened to choke.

"Get a fucking first aider!" He yelled, as his colleague jumped to at the order, racing for assistance. 

oOo

The ceiling above his head was slate grey. Like everything seemed to be in this place. 

Laying on his back, staring up at it. 

Dimly aware of someone seated beside him. 

The stench of sick in his nostrils. Would he ever be free of it? 

Slowly his realisation returned. He was lying on a hard narrow cot like bed in one of the cells. 

His cell mate was DS Crowther. Face filled with concern. 

Valiantly he tried to sit up, immediately an arm came out to offer assistance. 

"Take it easy Mr Fleming." 

Water was held to his lips and it felt like the coolest sweetest thing he'd ever sipped. 

His eyes sought those of his helper. 

"Is it really true?" He whispered. His vocal chords almost incapable of allowing him speech. 

"I'm afraid so. We have conclusive evidence that she swapped dental records with your wife. And the pathologist report on the mortal remains in the mortuary categorically shows that the woman there had given birth to a baby. Which Helen Reid never has. There can be no mistake." 

Breaking into sobs, he held one hand over his eyes as if to shut out the light. Bowing at the neck under the weight of the enormity of it all. 

"I made so many excuses. I thought she was ill. That the trauma had changed her......" he laughed almost manically, it was painful to hear.  
"The irony was, I was right....although not in the way I thought." 

"She duped you. She's a consummate liar. Has been all her life." Crowther replied. "Not that that makes any of us feel better." 

"Perhaps I wanted to be duped." He responded, quelling his tears with a supreme effort. "I was weak to be drawn to her in the first place. Weak and stupid. I betrayed my wife. May God forgive me." 

A fresh wave hit him, and the detective allowed him to vent his sorrow, his regret and remorse. 

"Gordon. You can't spend the rest of your days punishing yourself. You were her victim, just as your wife was. But you have Sean. And he'll need you now so fucking much. He's been grieving for weeks, entirely alone. Every day watching you with her, knowing she was an imposter. Too afraid to confide in you and spoil what he thought was your happiness. You have to focus on him now. You have to." 

The two men's eyes met and held. Collecting himself as the policeman helped him to his feet. 

"Let's see if we can't get you cleaned up, then I'll take you to see Sean. Hopefully he'll be awake by now." 

"Thank you Detective.....I mean it......sincerely......thank you." 

oOo

When DS Crowther finally made it back to his office, Douglas Monaghan was waiting for him. 

Drawn and tired, the police officer slumped into the chair. 

"Good grief Nick! You look like you've gone ten rounds with Tyson!"

There was a haunted look in the grey, weary face. 

"I'm not feeling good about myself just now Dougie." He replied thickly. 

"What's been going on? I came as soon as I received your message." 

"I've just broken a man." Lowering his head into his hands the detective hid his face. 

"As surely as if I'd condemned him to death, I have. I feel like an executioner. Fuck, I need to see my wife." 

The Doctor came around the table, both hands placed on his friend's shoulders. 

"So that's it then." His voice was soft and comforting. "You've got her at last.....Helen. It's conclusive?" 

"The prosecution will go to town on her. She'll get 25 years. Minimum. I'm going to formally arrest her on a charge of murder. I'm not sure if I can make the O'Connor killing stick, but the death of her sister was carefully and meticulously premeditated. Then there's the attempted murder of the boy. The evidence has stacked up. You were right by the way....about the dental records....." 

"It doesn't give me any satisfaction to be right Nick. Believe me. I wish it hadn't been that way. But right from the start, I knew I had to do something. That my friend Carol was dead and that woman had managed to get away with it. But I'm sorry. Truly sorry it's ended like this." 

Crowther leaned back with a sigh. 

"But altering those records the way she did, that's the proof that she planned her sister's demise. She knew that finger prints would be destroyed in a fire, and that dental records were the only other way to identify a charred twin one from the other. It's the most evil, calculated thing I've ever come across. It's just horrible." 

"And I partly blame myself for that...." Monaghan choked out, moving away from his friend to resume his seat. "......because I furnished her with that information......I little thought what damage I would do." 

"Christ Doug! You didn't do anything. She's a manipulative, cruel bitch and she had her plans formed from the moment she decided she fancied Gordon. She worked on him from the outset. Sucking him in, until he'd believe anything she told him....that's her MO. She's so fucking believable. Poor bastard, and now he's like a lost wraith. A shadow of the man he was. God knows how he's gonna come back from this.....and he's got to bury his wife yet......fuck! This case makes my arteries fur up!"

Both men sat in silence for several moments. Lost in their own thoughts. 

Dr Monaghan remembered the first time he'd seen both women together. How happy Carol had been to discover this sibling. A connection to her past and something to bring her joy in the future.  
No one could have foreseen the outcome.  
It made him irrepressibly sad.  
Looking across at Nick, his good friend, who had been tasked with picking through the debris of this dreadful business. Striving to bring justice, tormenting himself in the process. Removing him from the bosom of his own family, only to cut a swathe through another.  
There can't have been much satisfaction in that, he reflected. 

"It was the shoelaces again you know." 

Crowther's voice cut into his thoughts like a knife through butter. Bringing him back from his reverie. 

"Shoelaces?" The eyebrows furrowed. 

"Yeah. Young Sean. He knew she wasn't his mother from the day after she came home from hospital. Fancy that!" 

"I'm not with you....." his confused expression forced a smile. 

"You remember after Helen was released from hospital, when you came barging in here wittering on about fucking shoelaces? And I told you you were completely bonkers?" 

"How can I forget!" 

"Well....it was the shoelaces that gave her away to young Sean. She did them differently to how his mum showed him only a week or so before. So he knew.....right from the word go. She's wasn't his mum. It's what made him act the way he did, running away. Poor wee bugger. Fancy being caught out by such a ridiculously ordinary mundane thing! All the planning and careful schemes she'd wrought. Scuppered by fucking shoelaces!" 

"Well thank god I noticed them. Even though it did make me sound an utter fool at the time." 

Rising from his chair, Crowther yawned and stretched. 

"Gordon'll be finished cleaning up by now. I'll take him in to see his son. Can you do me a huge favour Dougie?" 

"Anything." 

"Can you hang around for a bit and take them both to yours to stay for a while. They can't go home to that fucking chalet. It's the scene of everything bad about the last few weeks. They both need a bit of a breathing space. It would be a weight off my mind to know they were safe with you." 

"Of course mate. I'll go fetch myself a coffee until they're ready to leave." 

Monaghan received a hearty clap on the back for his pains. 

"I appreciate it Douglas. You're a good friend." 

oOo

The reunion between father and son was mercifully carried out in private. 

Having shown Gordon to the door of the family suite, both Detective Crowther and Pauline left them to it. 

It probably wasn't the right thing to do but Nick made an executive decision. 

Gordon Fleming posed no threat to his boy. The _real_ threat had been removed. He would be sure to write that in his official report which went to the Social Services. 

Right now however, he just wanted the two to have some time alone. 

At first the child seemed wary. 

"Hello Dad." 

Down on his knees went the man. Arms outstretched. 

"Oh _Sean_ !" 

They came together like two waves hitting a rock. Smashed into an embrace and held tight. Sean's face buried in his father's neck.  
An outbreak of wild flurries of tears. 

"I'm so sorry Dad." He wept. 

Gordon placed his large hands on either side of his son's cheeks. Holding them firmly. 

"No son. It's me who's sorry. I was so blind. I chose not to see. I was wrong, and I never want you to be afraid to come to me, ever again. I love you more than my life!" 

Sean's crying was like the sound of a wounded animal. It rent the heart and was painful to listen to.  
A bellowing, mournful, hollow sound of loss and relief all rolled into one. 

Hushed and soothed by the one person who was his constant throughout.  
It was his great love for his dad that sparked all his actions. 

But now they both understood. 

Their bond was unbreakable, the love of a parent for his precious child. 

It could conquer everything. Make all seem hopeful again. A deep connection which would never be severed. 

"Your poor face! What happened?" 

His long fingertips probed the livid palm print gently. 

"She whacked me. She was so angry. I had to run Dad. I had to. It would only have been a matter of time before she got rid of me. She knew I _knew_. She wasn't my mum, and she didn't want me there. She just wanted you. But you seemed so happy, there wasn't a way I could tell you so you'd believe me....I didn't know what to do......she killed mum......didn't she? I hate her so much." 

The sobs renewed, Gordon's efforts to refrain from tears himself crumbled at these words. 

They cried together. 

Clinging to each other so tight that wild horses couldn't drag them apart. 

"I'm a fool son. I see that know. How could I ever have thought she was your mum? When I think back now....of the things she said, and did......" 

He stopped short. Retching again. Quelling the urge to be sick. Forcing it down. 

He MUST be strong. 

Must be. 

Sean had lost his mother. Was grieving for her. Mortally afraid of her 'replacement'. Afraid of everything.  
So much was clear now. 

His disappearing off to be by himself. His troubles at school. The sleepless nights. The tears at bedtime. His fear of the dark. 

All there before him in stark reality. 

How could he have been so fucking blind? 

He was a sensible adult for Christ's sake! 

Never would he be taken in like that again. 

But he'd wanted it so much. His soulmate. Because he loved her so. He'd never stopped loving Carol. Even when things began to unravel.  
He felt that love more strongly than ever. Felt she was slipping away from him.  
Then suddenly it was as if he'd got her back. 

Living, breathing and loving. 

It was a miracle! 

And he'd wanted to believe it with all his heart. 

His wife. His Carol. 

"We have each other Sean, okay? No matter what. You have me and I have you....and we'll be alright. We will. I know it." 

Sean Fleming wiped his face. 

"Dad. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can. You can ask me anything." 

"When it's finished, I want to go back to the old house. Can we? I love it there. And mums there. Not Auntie Helen, but mum. It'll be our home, all new and fresh but there'll still be a little bit of Mum....." 

His face was so impossibly hopeful.

Gordon wondered idly how painful it might be, living in the house that he and Carol had loved so much, with her no longer there. Every nook and cranny holding a memory for him. 

But he could see how much it meant to his son. 

The memories were mostly happy ones. From before Helen came on the scene anyway. He would hold fast to those and try to banish the others.  
For Sean, he could do it. 

"Of course we can wee laddie! It'll be like a new place. Different kitchen, different bathroom. We'll choose the decor together. Everything posh and smart. You'll have your own bedroom back....just as you want it....okay?" 

The small freckled face brightened. Green eyes moist but sparkling with renewed aspirations. 

Pulling away, he went to his rucksack. Taking out the two albums he'd so carefully carried and kept safe for the longest time. 

"Look Dad! I've got these. Everything else was lost in the fire, but I hid these from Auntie Helen when I caught her snooping. Somehow I knew I must do it, that it was really important.  
This is Mum. This is us. Mum is here with us still in these, even though she's far away and we can't see her anymore.  
We can look at them whenever we want, and remember her." 

Gordon's tears sprang afresh. Pouring down his face as he pulled the boy into his chest again. 

"I love you so much Sean. Never, ever forget it. Your mum lives in you. You have her colouring, her sharp mind, and you have her kind heart. We were so lucky we had you. I wanted a baby so much, we both did, we were told it might never happen.....but it did.....the day you arrived was the best thing that ever happened to me, that, and marrying your mother. You two were all I ever wanted. Nothing else is important now." 

Little kisses were peppered against his cheeks from the soft wee mouth. Two tear stained faces pressed tighter together. 

"Oh Dad. My Dad. I really do love you." He whispered.


	25. On Remand.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon visits Helen in custody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, obviously the events in this chapter are probably not how the legal system works to the letter. 
> 
> The prison visit I've made as accurate as possible as to procedure from research. 
> 
> It now becomes clear where 'Carol's' thoughts were coming from in Chapter 17. And it might be worth rereading to get a flavour of what she's feeling now, as she reflects on what happened.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.  
ON REMAND. 

_“He never thought that she saw in him what no one else could see. He never thought that in the whole world there were no other eyes that looked upon him with the same light and strength as hers.”_ Little Dorrit. Charles Dickens. 

.......

In spite of not sleeping at all since the day before, Gordon passed another wakeful night at Douglas Monaghan's house. 

He tossed and turned unable to rest. 

Overwhelmed with grief and sadness, but also with the horror of discovering the truth about Helen's identity.

There was no closure. No explanation. 

He knew that if he didn't do something the not knowing would haunt him forever. 

"I have to see her." 

Sitting up alongside him, providing solace in his lonely nocturnal vigil, Douglas frowned. 

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"I don't know if it's wise or not, I just know I have to speak with her." 

"I'll stay with Sean. You go. Do what you have to do. In the morning yeah?" 

The face that looked up at him was so bewildered it was almost unbearable. So pained and terribly sad. 

"Thanks Douglas." 

"Now why not try to get some sleep?" 

"No point. I think I'll put my coat on and go out for a walk." 

......

_return to chapter 17. 'To Be Believed' for Carol's thoughts at this time. (Passage marked *)_

Held on remand in a women's facility, prior to her initial appearance at the Magistrates Court, which was set for the following week, Helen was surprised to learn there was someone to see her. 

Gordon had to seek special permission for a 'reception visit.' 

By the time he arrived for his allotted appointment time he was a walking zombie. 

It was a pretty grim place. Electric perimeter fencing and high walls. An automated gate barrier and security booth.  
The dark, empty rows of windows above staring down like blind eyes. 

Gordon had never seen the inside of a police station up until this week, let alone a prison. It was not an experience he wished to repeat in a hurry. 

On arrival he was shown to the visitors centre, just outside the main detention block. 

Other relatives were there, clustered in groups, waiting to be allowed in to see their loved ones. Gordon felt apart from them. A solitary figure with his hands in his pockets. Ignominiously shuffling his feet and avoiding eye contact. Almost as if he were guilty of something himself. 

Required to show his Visitor Order and passport as a means of identification, he was then taken through to a small examination suite. Here, his mobile phone, keys and wallet were taken from him and put into a numbered locker. The warden then thoroughly searched him. Spread legged and patted down. Swept his torso with an electronic sensor, before requesting him to remove his shoes, his belt and his coinage before walking beneath a scanner.  
These procedures were all most disconcerting. 

"You're here to see Helen Reid?" 

"Yes." 

"Relationship?"

"She's my sister-in-law." 

It pained him to say it. 

"Fine. You're clear. Go through." 

Brusque and detached. 

The final security detector bleeped a green light and he was shown through a heavy metal door into the interior proper. 

The numbness he felt seemed to grow with every step he took. Legs heavy and unresponsive. Jaw set tight. 

Briskly walking along featureless corridors. Another locked door, then another. All the time the jangling of the jailers keys accompanied them as they swung from his belt on a stout chain. 

Once inside the visitors hall a last door was clanged shut behind him with a finality that made him grit his teeth. His tired eyes scanned the large bare room which resembled a gymnasium. No one turned to look, no one gave a second glance, a muted hum of conversation already in progress. 

More slate grey. Just like the interior of the police station. Did they have vats of this stuff in stock, purely for making the insides of these utilitarian buildings appear dull and drab in the extreme? To so depress the people kept inside that they abandoned all hope and gave in to the inevitable institutionalised regime?

Tables with metal legs fixed to the floor and hard backed moulded chairs set out in regimented rows with each seat strategically placed on either side, facing each other. 

A female warder accompanied him. 

"You are not permitted long embraces or physical contact." She informed him strictly. "You will be observed at all times. If you need to use the facilities you must raise your hand. You will be accompanied to and from the lavatory and searched both times. Is that clear?" 

"Yes. Don't worry there'll be no touching, I can assure you." Gordon replied stiffly. 

"You may help yourself to beverages but they must be consumed during the visit. The visit will be terminated if any of the aforementioned criteria are contravened." 

Gordon was barely registering her words at this point, because he'd spotted her. Or rather her flaming red hair.  
It was not difficult to miss. A lurch went through him and he shuddered involuntarily. 

Sitting. Her hands folded in her lap. 

For some reason he'd invisaged a sack cloth dress, or striped pyjama type outfit....perhaps not the cliché thirties movie style with arrows printed upon it, but some kind of recognisable prison garb. 

This was not the case. She was wearing her own clothes. Looking for all the world like she was waiting for a bus. 

Her downcast eyes lifted as he took his seat. Pushing the chair back from the table so as to be physically as far removed from her as the geography of the room allowed. 

His appearance momentarily shocked her. 

Pale and washed out. Hair flat, combed back from his forehead. The once clear eyes were glazed. Hollow and ringed with dark circles. Seemingly sunken into his head.  
Jaw muscle working conspicuously. The whole body language was that of a man utterly defeated. Lost and bereft.  
It affected her deeply. 

"I didn't think you'd come." 

She neither attempted to reach out to him, nor rise from her seat. Glancing nervously to the side, towards the warden who stood impassively nearby, observing carefully. 

At first he did not reply. Unable to find adequate words. It was as if he were searching her face. Hoping to see an explanation written there. 

"Gordon.....I......" she leaned forward slightly, placing her hands on the table in front of her. 

"Why?" He interrupted. "Why did you do it Helen?" 

Gazing at her with utter incomprehension. Such pain. It made her heart bleed. 

"Because I love you Gordon." 

The sentence filtered, sinking in only slowly. 

To her surprise he gave a bitter laugh. It was a scoffing, dismissive cackle which made her wince. 

"That's the best you can say is it?" 

He could not keep the contempt from his tone. 

"Carol never truly appreciated you. Didn't realise what she had. Not like I do. She was shagging that Mike guy. She betrayed you. You deserved so much better." 

"Like you, you mean?" 

Her eyes were soft and adoring, keeping her voice gentle, almost purring. 

"We had an instant connection. It wasn't just me who was doing it you know....it was you too darling. You felt it, you acted upon it. You wanted it. I knew from the beginning. The attraction was instantaneous, it worked both ways." 

Gordon shook his head in disbelief. 

"I keep thinking of the fire. The way you carefully planned it all. You must have stepped over her body to escape. Leaving her to burn. She wasn't dead then....did you know that? Did you care? She was your own flesh and blood. She was my wife. She was the love of my life. Her......not you." 

Now it was Helen's turn to laugh. 

"Don't tell me you didn't know it was me who survived! I won't believe it. You knew you'd got the right sibling. You were happy. In your heart of hearts, you knew. But you were okay with it. Because it was what you wanted, deep down. I know it. You loved me too....more than you ever loved her." 

His reply was a slow shake of the head, murmuring under his breath.

"No! No! No!" 

"Yes Gordon. _Yes._ You loved what we had together." 

"I didn't know! I had no idea! I thought the trauma, the fire, everything that happened.....I thought it had changed you. I thought you were grieving for your dead sister. Latterly I actually thought you were ill. You scared me. You scared Sean. Now I know why." 

A wry smile. 

"Sean knew right from the start......clever little sneak!" 

"And that's why you decided to get rid of him? He didn't figure in your plans? How convenient that he should almost drown whilst in your care! You are evil. Pure fucking evil." 

"NO!" The sharpness of her voice caused the warden glare in their direction before moving towards them. 

"Keep the volume down Reid or the visit will be over." 

Helen hushed herself immediately. Contrite and submissive. 

"I'm sorry." 

"No." She repeated more quietly. "You don't understand." 

Gordon held his hands out wide. 

"Then make me understand Helen! Help me! Explain to me why you stood there watching him drown." 

_"Because I can't swim."_

The admission was so earnestly made. So astonishing yet emphatic, that it took her would be husband's breath away. 

"Oh holy fuck!" 

Gordon blanched, his chin wobbling. His eyes brimmed with tears which trickled down like drops of rain on a window pane. Stunned into silence. The sobering thought that his son might have died because the sister she so glibly impersonated was a strong swimmer and she was not. It beggared belief. 

"I would never have hurt him Gordon. To do so would have lost me your love, and there was nothing I'd ever have done to jeopardise that. Absolutely nothing. It _really_ was an accident. And it was me who brought him back to life. Don't forget that." 

"I think I should go." There was a quaver of emotion in his words. "I've heard enough."  
Placing his hands on his knees he made to rise. A broken man. Devoid of any crumb of sympathy. 

"Please!" She hissed. "Not yet......Gordon, I love you so much, no one has ever treated me the way you did. So kind. So loving and affectionate. So patient and thoughtful with me always. It's why I was drawn to you, so submissive, so gentle......like no one else I've ever known.....being one with you, feeling you, experiencing the power of that love.....nothing I've ever felt in my entire life was as strong." 

Gordon felt suddenly nauseous again. Forcing back the urge to retch. 

"When I think of what we did.....what I willingly let you do to me.....it makes me want to vomit." He spat, his mouth now a firmly held tight line.

"No!" Her voice lost all its conviction, taking on a desperate, pleading note. "No! Don't say that! Please! I gave you something my sister never did! It was beautiful. Intense......you came alive with me. You needed it. You said so." 

"That was because I thought you were my WIFE......!" He cried, in stupefaction. 

"......I thought we were establishing new ground, finding new ways to be a couple.....but all the time you were plotting. First you got rid of that poor unfortunate bastard Mike....because presumably he might have scuppered your cunning scheme....maybe you dealt with your own husband even before that! Who knows? Then you brutally killed your own sister.....my poor sweet, lovely Carol....who was ten times the woman you'll EVER be......and not content with all that....you aspired to get rid of my precious son.....and all because you say you loved ME? Jesus fucking Christ Helen....that's the most twisted......you are completely stark raving mad!" 

Others around them in the hall began to turn their heads, staring in their direction as the decibel level grew louder. 

"I'm NOT mad!" She hit back, with a fresh volley of newly found vehemence. "You fucking loved it! You needed it.....craved it. You wanted it! GORDON.....I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU WANTED!" 

Gordon rose to his feet, eyes blazing, as Helen did the same. They faced each other with the table between them. The only barrier. Fire crackled hot and vicious between the two.  
Two prison officers made a grab for Helen as she made circle the table, rushing to cling on to Gordon fast, attempting to fling her arms around him. 

"NO!" He bellowed in return, as she was pounced upon, roughly grappled to the floor, a third warden taking his arm and pulling him away. "CAROL gave me what I wanted! _SHE GAVE ME MY SON!_ " 

It was surreal that throughout the commotion no one else in the room batted an eyelid. Unconcerned and unfazed.  
Flushed and sweating, his last sight was of her struggling fiercely as she was forcibly held down.  
Arms dragged behind her, metal cuffs fastened around her wrists.  
She kicked and wrestled and screamed at the futility of it all. 

Her final words reaching him as the armoured door clanged shut behind him. 

"Gordon! I love you. I did it all for you! PLEASE! Everything I did was for you!" 

Escorted rapidly through the series of doors, emerging into the security suite, Gordon was shaking so violently he could hardly walk. 

"She's mental. She's fucking mental." He repeated over and over. As his accompanying guard made him take a seat a cup of water was pushed into his hands. 

"I will remain here until you are calm." The look was neither kind nor concerned, but rather condescending and faintly annoyed. "I advise you not to visit again." 

"Don't worry! I won't." Gordon retorted. "I got what I came for. Confirmation. Explanation. Everything is clear as crystal now."  
Looking up at the scowling warden, who stood over him, lowering down, his brow furrowed with thinly disguised disgust, made him suddenly angry.  
From somewhere in the depths of his soul he found strength and fortitude.

"Don't fucking look at me like that." He challenged. "How dare you look down your nose and judge me? I've now got to go and bury my wife....what's left of her. So keep your fucking supercilious expression to yourself! That uniform you wear doesn't make you a superior race.....it just gives you a falsely vaulted authority to Lord it over people like me......or that woman in there....." he pointed back through the armour plated door. "......she is a product of institutions....just like this one. Places where was let down, never received any love, no affection....so that when she eventually found it.....she'd do absolutely anything to keep a hold of it. ANYTHING! Do you understand?" 

Before the beleaguered man could reply, Gordon ploughed on regardless. 

"I pity her. She'll probably be punished for the rest of her life. But it's the fault of the system which raised her. Made her into what she is. A vicious manipulative psychopath. Because of that my son has lost his mother.....I've lost my wife....we will _never_ be the same again. So keep your fucking distain. Save it for the do-gooders who put her there in the first place." 

Collecting his belongings, he exited the prison with such relief.  
The urge was to run and run. Grateful for his freedom. 

Once back in the city, instead of returning to Douglas Monaghan's, he headed for the Clyde. 

For more than an hour he walked along its banks. Until finally his energy ran out and he could not force himself to take another step.  
He'd not slept. Not eaten. 

Physically and mentally drained. 

Sapped of all feeling and emotion. 

Carol was gone. 

He must face the future alone. Bring up his boy by himself. 

Idly he looked down at the grey body of fast flowing water. Leaning over the concrete parapet. 

The outlook could not be more bleak. 

His tortured mind resisted the strong urge to climb up, to stand on the ledge. Allowing himself the luxury of letting himself fall. Imagining the release it would bring him from this torment. 

Only the thought of Sean prevented him. 

He was a father. 

There was no way on heaven or earth he could do that to his boy. 

Condemn him to a life not unlike Helen's. 

It would not only be cowardly but utterly selfish too. 

Backing away. Fighting the tears. 

He would live for his child. Carry on, be strong. Give his precious offspring every ounce of love and succour that was within him to bestow.  
He would be there for him. 

No matter what.


	26. Ashes to Ashes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol's body has finally been released to the family, so that a funeral can take place.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as the court part of this chapter goes, I've tried to be as accurate as possible.
> 
> I don't profess to be _au fait_ with the British or rather Scottish court system.  
>  I did not want to dwell too much on all the questioning and cross examining because all the evidence has been laid out for the reader in previous chapters. In effect the reader has been a jury member since the beginning. Listening to the facts and making a judgement. I didn't feel I needed to go over them all again.  
> Helen's defence would most certainly try to deflect from her actions in any way he can, but his line with Gordon would soon be jumped upon by the prosecution as there is no evidence against him, and he is not the one on trial.  
> As for Sean, as a minor, he would not be required to attend court, watching and speaking via video link so as not to traumatise him more than necessary. He would only attend on days when he was required to give evidence. 
> 
> Hope that helps clarify any problems.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.  
ASHES TO ASHES.

They buried her on a Thursday. 

Beneath a dour, gunmetal sky, the misty veil of drizzling rain pattering down on the charcoal umbrella which Gordon held tightly in his hand. The sound like the skin of a drum reverberating, bouncing then dripping to the ground at his feet. 

The solemn cortège winding down from the old house. 

It seemed fitting she should leave for the last time from there. Even though it was not yet finished. 

Slowly, the sleek black hearse pulled away, a great cart horse bearing the load. Its dark sides polished to a dazzling shine. Falling raindrops seemed to run down through the wax in intricate patterns, gathering in an inky pool which reflected the sorrow of the occasion a million times over in miniature. 

Inside it, many flowers. The scent of which assaulted the nostrils. Wreaths and tributes of all hues and varieties, from all and sundry. 

From Sean, a simple pillow of white lilies. From Gordon, pink roses in a circlet. Each bearing a message of love. Neither one brash nor ostentatious. 

Both smartly turned out in almost matching suits. Black tie, crisp white shirts. 

They walked side by side directly behind. The father with one arm protectively around his son's back, hand resting on the young shoulder. Umbrella held over them both. It offered only rudimentary shelter, but neither seemed to notice. 

Grim faces. Heads bowed as if under a huge weight. 

A line of mourners followed, straggling along, crunching on the wet gravel. Heads down to pick their way. Snaking around the puddles, avoiding the mud. Heading the short distance to the little stone church. 

Pauline and her son. Douglas Monaghan. Angus and his parents. Other villagers who's lives Carol had touched and enriched.  
Her students from the Art School. Teachers, mums and some pupils who were friends from Sean's class.  
And bringing up the rear, discretely, Detective Sergeant Nicholas Crowther accompanied by WPC Rhona Jameson. 

All the while the clouds rolled and tumbled overhead. Bringing with them the smell of the sea, the mournful cry of gulls.  
The heavens seemed to open, letting fall it's tears.  
Weeping for Carol Fleming. 

A knot of press stood in the rain. Dripping wet, like drowned rats they waited.  
The case had sparked a great deal of interest in the national tabloids as well as the local rags.  
A woman who kills her twin sister and takes her place? A husband who lives with her for several weeks, not knowing? This was hot stuff. This was what their readers wanted! 

Barely acknowledging their presence, Gordon placed his umbrella firmly between himself and the camera lens. The others of the congregation did the same.  
Crowther walked over, flashed his badge and told them to piss off, have some damn respect, or he'd be taking names and addresses.  
Grumpily they began to pack up their gear. Shambling away thaw out at the nearest pub. 

But they'd be back. 

There was too much in this story for them to let it be. This would run and run. 

Only the slight echo of the vicar's words sounded as he made his address, bouncing up to the rafters, ringing there before fading down. That and the punctuation of a salutary cough from a member of the assembly.

Gordon stared straight ahead throughout the service, fixed on the polished wood of the coffin, as Sean, seated in the pew beside him, sobbed quietly into his coat. His arms encircled the boy, holding tight, a large hand cradling the ginger head. 

He neither saw nor felt. 

Almost blind. Dumb. Deaf. Impervious. It all seemed to be happening around him, but he wasn't really there. 

Lost to the world. 

Just a numb ache somewhere in his chest which threatened to burst at any moment but which, somehow he managed to hold in. 

Rhona had been shocked by his haunted visage. The pale gaunt face, the hunch of his shoulders. Consumed with grief. She shared as much to her boss. 

Emerging from the chapel door, the coffin hoisted on strong shoulders ahead of them, they found the rain had ceased.  
Leaving behind just the petrichor. A subtle, clean, earthy aroma. The ground was welcoming her, taking her down to become one with it again. Returning to the atoms whence she came. 

Sean's hand searched blindly for his, finding it and curling his small fingers around the icy palm. Squeezing tight.  
His tears had dried up like the rain. Just crusted lines down his face. 

Gordon looked down at him, gave a wee reassuring smile.....the child so bravely looking up. Together they were in a bubble of impenetrable sorrow. Their eyes so similar. Words unsaid between them. No words were needed. 

At the graveside he stumbled and almost went down. 

Gripped firmly by Pauline, who was nearest to him. She threaded her arm through his at the elbow and held on.  
Just a look passing between them to say _'it's okay Gordon, I've got you'._

That comfort was so welcome. She probably had no idea.  
To feel the warmth of that hand resting on his forearm. Steadying him. It seemed to seep into his frozen skin. Strengthening his resolve. As a gesture she could have done nothing better. 

As the chestnut coffin was lowered into the ground, the clouds parted. Rolling aside like a door opening, to allow through a shaft of clear golden light.  
One single beam shone down over Mull, sweeping over the landscape like a searchlight. Illuminating, then moving on. Gliding effortlessly over the Firth, making a shining path on the water.  
A celestial causeway which shimmered for a few moments, before the nebulous puffs of cotton wool drew together again, shutting it off. 

Several people noticed it. Even gasped at its perceived significance.  
Gordon continued gazing at the spot long after the light vanished. Turning away with a sigh.  
"Don't let go." He murmured to Pauline, still at his side, as they picked their way back among the gravestones. 

"Don't worry. I won't." She replied. 

The village women had organised the wake. Carol was their friend, she was a customer, a neighbour, a mum. She was a wife, a helper, a confidante. In short, she was one of them.  
Angus's mother was the chief amongst them. 

Gordon remembered nothing of that time. 

Tea, sandwiches, sympathy. 

People came over, spoke to him, offering condolences. He must have responded, exchanged pleasantries, thanked them for their pity, he had no idea. Sean did not leave his side. There, by his trouser leg constantly. 

It was not until Alex Campbell moved closer that he actually spoke to anyone apart from his father. 

"Wanna come and sit for a while?" He asked politely. 

Sean nodded. 

One final check on his dad to make sure he was coping, and the two boys found a corner together. 

"I'm Alex." 

"Sean." 

"Pauline's my mum." 

The boys were roughly the same age. Went to the same primary school but had never really spoken.  
In different classes. Different circles. 

"It's gonna be really tough for you. And ever so tough for your dad. That's all I have to say." He said, in the most matter of fact manner. 

Turning to face him, Sean frowned, confused. This rather odd, quiet boy, a stranger, and yet he seemed to _know_.  
How? 

"I miss her." 

Their eyes searched each other's. Hunting for meaning. Explanation. A slight nod of comprehension. 

"I lost my dad." His voice was soft, but direct. "A while back. It's shite. You'll need a friend Sean.....one who understands. And they won't.....your other friends I mean, they won't know what it's like. They can't possibly. But I do. So I want you to know that. For when it gets too much. Okay?" 

There didn't seem to be an adequate response, nothing which could convey his thoughts at that precise moment anyhow. 

"Thanks." He said simply, with an accepting shrug. "Thanks a lot." 

oOo

Gordon Fleming was dead inside. 

It's true that his heart continued pumping. His kidneys, lungs and digestive tract functioned as normal. His brain still manufactured thoughts and connections. 

Still he remained essentially a walking shell. An empty husk. 

He and Sean were to stay with Douglas whilst the trial was in progress. It was a kindness which did not go unnoticed but was not really discussed. Just gratefully accepted. 

Monaghan could not have done a better thing if he'd tried. 

The fact that Gordon was spared a drive from the far side of Ayr each day in the state he was in, was the most helpful thing.  
There was also the looming problem that he couldn't yet face returning to the old house, not to mention that it still remained unfinished. At a pinch they could probably have moved in, lived around the decorators, but it was far from ideal.  
The insurance company were dragging their heels over a couple of aspects of the renovation and Gordon did not have spare energy to argue with them. 

More importantly though, it saved Gordon having to think. 

Something which he was finding very difficult to do at the present time. He didn't have to consider laundry or cleaning, preparing meals or anything of the mundane domestic stuff that one does on a daily basis in normal life.  
Sean was definitely not fit to return to school. That much was clear. He simply couldn't cope. Being bombarded with questions about his mother and all the events that had taken place by his curious classmates was beyond the Pale.  
He could therefore spend time with Douglas or Pauline, and, more to the point his new found ally, Alex, and his father would know his son was safe, and being well looked after.  
They both stepped up to the plate to help out in a manner which he found humbling. 

There was only one thing which really occupied Gordon's mind at this time. 

The trial of Helen Reid. 

Each day he ran the gauntlet of a scrummage of press. Jostling and snapping their cameras. Holding their iPhones to his face to catch a comment.  
Each day he walked straight through them. Neither speaking nor making any sign that he was aware of their presence.  
Their shouts became more insistent by the day. 

_"Just a brief comment Mr Fleming! How did you not know you were living with the wrong woman?"_

The court proceedings were a sensation. On the front of every newspaper. In the absence of facts, they printed fabrication. 

But none of it came from Gordon and he neither read the trash they wrote nor acknowledged its existence. 

Armour plating. 

Gordon's daily ritual was all that kept him sane. 

Rise from what sleep he'd managed to catch. (Usually precious little.)  
Shower, shave, don his smart suit. Taking time to meticulously knot his tie.  
Breakfast seldom figured, since he was always too nauseous to eat at that time. Guts twisted with nerves for what might transpire that day. 

Spend a little quiet time alone with Sean before leaving. 

Every day he was directed to sit in the same row. Commanding a view of the entire room.  
Silent. 

Watching. Listening. Avoiding eye contact. 

Helen would be bought up from the bowels of the cells beneath. Standing or sitting behind a plexiglass shield.  
All the attention was on her, and she seemed to revel in it. 

The jury would file in. Grim faced. Bowed under the weight of what they were expected to do. 

His gaze would scan each individual meticulously. Men and women, all there to consider the evidence.  
The barristers arriving in their wigs, gowns floating behind them like capes.  
Lastly the judge. Everyone rising in deference as he entered.  
The little scuffle of feet and muting of voices as they did so. 

A hush descending. 

The recorder sitting in front, began tapping on her little machine as the proceedings began. 

Helen pleaded Not Guilty. To all charges. 

He sat motionless, detached from everything.  
Barely a shred of emotion did he show. 

No matter how hideous the revelations. 

Only now did he learn the full story of her background and dreadful upbringing. 

Painful truths about his wife's affair. Details of which he also knew little or nothing. 

O'Connor's family were present, but Gordon did not register them. He couldn't bring himself to do so. 

The forensic report was most harrowing to listen to. Several of the female jurors were seen to put their hands over their mouths as the grisly details emerged. 

Having dressed herself in the same clothes as her sister, thus showing that she'd attempted to pass herself off as Carol previously, Helen first attacked her twin with a knife. Causing deep cuts to her hands as she tried desperately to defend herself. Her futile attempts to escape resulted in the bathroom door glass being smashed in.  
A blow to the head finally took her down. The fire having by then taken hold. Unconscious, she was left to burn. 

Gordon swallowed, bowing his head. His hands tightly clasped in his lap. Still showing no visible sign. 

And this was just the first day! 

Subsequent days were not much better. A horror story, gradually unfolding. 

Whilst all the time he heard her lies. Twisted versions. Half truths. Fantastical concoctions. 

It beggared belief. 

There was not really one occasion when she told the truth. 

Apart from perhaps confessing her initial attraction to him, how much she loved him, and their subsequent relationship. 

Her words fell like acid on his ears. Burning them like the poison they were. His white face remaining unreadable. Looking down at his own threaded fingers in shame, as he heard himself described with such delectation.

Somehow it was all down to him. He was forceful. Compelling. He coerced her into a liaison before the death of his wife. It was clear he fancied her. She just acted on his signals.  
Afterwards his true proclivities manifested themselves, pressurising her with threats to perform sexual acts that were against her inclinations, but she went along with them because she loved him. She told it all so salaciously. Graphic descriptions of what they did between the sheets. 

His humiliation complete. 

Once these details emerged was there no end to the mortification he was forced to endure? 

Apparently not. 

Yes. It was all him. 

He was weak. He could have said no. _He did say no._

But by then it was too late. 

Unfortunate then, that having heard himself thus vilified, almost in a state of breakdown he was then called to the witness stand himself. 

His own testimony compounded his apparent weakness, his lack of character. Not helped by his replying to questions in monosyllables. Almost unable to look at his examiner. The lack of sleep and inadequate nutrition beginning to take its toll. Along with his overwhelming grief and horror at the exposé's he'd already had to withstand. Body blow after body blow. 

After a lengthy interrogation Gordon became confused and disorientated by certain lines of questioning. 

Starting with the mention of his wife's affair, of which he'd remained largely, blissfully ignorant.

Had he conspired with Helen to frame Carol for Mike O'Connor's murder? The two of them giving each other an alibi according to Monaghan's earlier, apparently innocent, testimony. 

"My client told Dr Monaghan that she was at the house all morning on that day and that you could vouch for that." He suggested with a hint of triumph. 

Gordon hesitated, shaking his head as if to clear the fuzz inside it. 

"What? Well, I thought she was there....I mean I was upstairs, working. I could hear her moving about downstairs at some points. I didn't really think much about it." 

Where was this going? Gordon couldn't comprehend. 

God, he felt so terribly drained, like he would fall down at any moment. 

Then the bombshell. 

The defence council's attempt to imply his complicity with Helen in the murder of his own wife, so that _they_ could be together. 

"I put it to you that when your plan to get rid of your wife that way failed, you then came up with another, more permanent, scheme. To take her out of the equation for good." 

This was too much. It was ludicrous. He wasn't on trial here, was he?

"NO! Carol wanted Helen to leave! I took Sean away.....leaving the two sisters to sort things out. How can you suggest such a thing? It's a monstrous allegation......"

So unnerved by the bullying tactics of the experienced barrister the stricken man seemed to turn grey before the entire assembly. Swaying where he stood. 

"Are you quite well Mr Fleming?" 

Shaking visibly as one might if suffering from shell shock, Gordon could not reply. 

Why was all this happening to him? It was utterly incomprehensible. 

This dreadful woman had come into his life and turned everything he'd ever been sure of onto its head. 

Nothing was certain anymore. He didn't even know who he was. Where he was. His hand went to his forehead, covering his eyes. They blurred and the room swam. 

"I.....I......need to sit." He stammered, before staggering backwards. 

"I think we've heard enough for now." The judge intervened. 

His ordeal ended, he had to be helped from the stand. 

Shattered beyond anything he'd ever suffered. 

How would he ever come back from this? 

........

..... _the following day_......

It was inevitable that the defence would wish to cross examine Sean, abandoning their line of enquiry with the father. Through him they may be able to discredit the whole proceedings as a circus. 

Had there been anything Gordon could have done to spare his son, he'd have done it. 

But there was no way to avoid him taking the stand. 

Sean gave his evidence via a video link. Visible on a screen. Gordon was now forced to watch his son's torture.  
It was the most painful thing he'd ever witnessed. The child's uncertainty at the situation. Afraid and close to tears. Telling of his life over the past weeks, unable to share or unburden himself to a single soul, not even to Pauline. 

On this day Gordon leaned forward, his head in his hands. Traumatised. 

Only once did he look up. 

When Helen, gripping the rail in front of her with both hands, swore that it was he that hit Sean and not her, and that she was worried he may be abusing the boy. 

The green eyes widened slightly. As he looked at her properly for probably the first time, catching her fearsome glare.  
Her expression defiant, triumphant. 

Oh, but he'd seen that face before! 

So this was how she planned to wreak her revenge? 

Her last ditch effort. Now that it was clear he'd betrayed her. He didn't love her. He'd done what everyone did to her in the end. Let her down. Now it was pay back time! 

To attempt to have his son taken from him. 

Helen saw his fear and rejoiced. 

He needn't have worried. 

No one believed her. 

Her words were summarily picked to pieces by the prosecution. Torn to shreds and thrown aside. 

Gordon watched her give a final empty laugh of derision. 

But he knew at that moment she was defeated. All the clever manipulations just made her sound worse.  
Her schemes and plans were exposed one by one over the subsequent days, and the more she lied the more they stripped away her clever layers of deception. 

At the end of each exhausting day, Gordon would come home to Douglas's house, collapse shattered onto the sofa and spend the next few hours closeted with Sean. 

That was their special time. 

Only then did his soul actually seem to be partially living. He could eat a little. Rest. The deadness inside him retreating for those precious moments.  
Only to return the following morning as the merry-go-round began again. 

His father told him everything about the trial.  
Nothing held back. 

He knew that keeping things dark would only fuel more curiosity down the line. Simplifying the jargon so that Sean could understand, but never sugar coating the pill.  
There was nothing to be gained by it. 

No one else was taken into his confidence thus. Not even Monaghan. Who was present in court only on the occasions when he himself was required to give evidence. 

The final hammer blow for Gordon Fleming was a double whammy.  
When the evidence found at the Dental Practice, together with the pathologists lab report were revealed, on the final day. 

The former made clear the level of premeditation involved in the crime. 

This made the difference between murder, and the less high tariff charge of manslaughter. 

Crowther had been careful to make the distinction in his witness statement. Emphasising the weeks of preplanning. 

Helen knew all was lost. 

She tried to counter that she HAD to do it. Otherwise she could never secure Gordon's love.  
The only love she'd ever encountered in her life which was meaningful to her. 

Then John, the pathologist, spoke of his examination of Carol's body. 

Highlighting the genetic ovarian abnormality present in both twins. 

When he pointed out the miracle that Carol had ever conceived, let alone borne a child, the one piece of irrefutable evidence which confirmed once and for all which sister she was....

......Gordon finally gave way. 

His sobs echoed around the otherwise silent courtroom. 

Glancing up in pity, the judge acted immediately. 

"I think that we'll adjourn for luncheon at this point. We will reconvene at 2pm for the summing up. Would the usher please assist Mr Fleming from the court. So that he can compose himself." 

"All rise."


	27. Continuing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon and Sean return to their old house. 
> 
> Gordon is struggling badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is one of my favourite films from childhood. 
> 
> The link for 'Lovely Lonely Man' is here: 
> 
> https://youtu.be/qpFgoyqxDSI

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.  
CONTINUING.

Opening the door for the very first time the pair were assaulted by the smell of fresh paint. 

A weak November sun slanted into the kitchen, filling it with light. Low in the sky it reflected the squares of the window panes on the back wall like a chequer board. 

Gordon wandered the rooms. 

His eyes scanning each detail. 

It was like a new home, that was his overwhelming impression. It wasn't like the house he and Carol had first moved into. 

Stone flag tiles on the downstairs floors, a cord carpet in the living room. 

Bespoke wooden shelving, a much more modern kitchen, reconfigured, the sink now beneath the window where he always thought it ought to be. 

Super squishy cozy sofas, cushions, a hearthrug, different light fittings. 

He'd chosen neutral colours for the walls. Dove grey here, a buttery creamy yellow there. 

In the aftermath of the fire, almost everything that he and Carol had ever shared, used and bought as a couple were destroyed.  
All he had were the two photo albums which Sean had secreted before the conflagration. 

His son barrelled in behind him, wildly excited. Up the stairs two at a time, straight into his new bedroom. 

Opening the door he gasped in appreciation. It was everything he'd ever wanted. 

A desk area with his computer so he could work or draw. A wardrobe with freshly painted blue doors, posters and some of his father's artwork, framed.  
His brand new bed had contemporary covers with his favourite space, stars and rockets on them.

But best of all was his ceiling. 

It was midnight blue, studded with a myriad of tiny lights, so that when darkness fell he could lie as if gazing up at the night sky. His bedside lamp even projected the moon. 

He was thrilled. 

Hearing Gordon's step behind him, he turned, face beaming. 

"Well, what do you think?" 

"It's wonderful dad! I love it." He smiled. "I love it so much." 

Drawn into a close hug, they stood for some moments together, just taking time to let it all sink in. 

"Let's look at your room now!" The boy pulled his father's hand, dragging him along the landing. 

A large double bed, all cream and earthy browns, a warm clay colour on the walls. 

There were no vestiges of femininity as such, except for a pretty glass perfume bottle which had belonged to Carol, which stood in pride of place on his dresser. 

Gordon possessed very few personal items that belonged to her, and those he had were precious. 

Three days previously he'd received, from Her Majesty's Prison, (where Helen now resided, and would probably remain for the rest of her days), a recorded delivery parcel. 

It contained Carol's wedding band. 

At first he was shocked to open it. It also included a hand written note from the governor explaining that Helen had asked for it to be sent. As it rightfully belonged to him.  
He supposed it was a gesture. Albeit a futile one. 

Or even an olive branch. 

Although he remained unswayed. He would never set his eyes upon her again. As far as he was concerned, she was as dead as her twin. 

It would never be forgotten by him that Helen had taken it from her finger as she stepped over her sister's lifeless body that fateful night. 

Gordon had given no previous thought to it, having forgotten that Helen was wearing it. Had he possessed it earlier his wife would probably have been buried with it on her finger.  
Too late for that now. 

So it was on a chain, around his neck. 

At this very moment. 

As his eyes swept the new room his hand strayed to his throat. Closing his fingers around it. 

Standing at his hip , Sean, watching his Dad's face carefully, reached for his other hand where it dangled loosely at his side. Taking it in his own. 

"It's all good Dad." He whispered. "Isn't it? We'll be alright.....won't we?" 

The smile he received was genuine. Warm. The eyes soft and kind as always. 

"Yes. Wee laddie." He replied, giving his small fingers a reassuring squeeze. "We'll be fine."

oOo

Sean saw Pauline Campbell twice weekly for counselling. Sometimes more. 

He damn well needed it. 

Who else could he tell how worried he was, not for himself but for his dad? 

Never mind about oxygen masks! This was desperately important. 

The trust he placed in her now was total. No longer keeping anything back. 

"He only cries when he thinks I won't hear him. At night mostly. And I don't know what to do." 

Mrs Campbell didn't really need to be told how badly Gordon Fleming was coping. She could see it as plain as the nose on his face each time he dropped off his son for a therapy session. 

He'd actually asked if she would consider counselling him too, but she'd refused. Not for any ethical reasons particularly, but she considered it best he should see someone else.  
She wasn't quite sure why. Somehow it didn't seem right. Although later she realised the reason. 

For now, she just knew she must just say no. 

However she happily recommended him to a friend of hers instead, a male therapist whom she considered extremely good. Encouraging him to make an appointment as soon as possible.

Sometimes Gordon would wait, or have a cup of tea if he was early to collect Sean, or the session ran over time. It pleased him to see how well the two boys, Alex and his son, got on.  
They seemed thick as thieves. 

There was a quiet assurance about the lad which Gordon greatly admired. He and Sean had a great deal in common it turned out, they gelled together well. 

On one occasion, Pauline's mother was also at the house when Gordon arrived. 

It had been a particularly bad week.  
Brought on by the fact that it would have been Carol's birthday in early December and Gordon was struggling badly.  
Seeing his distress Alex's nan asked him to sit a while. 

"I've been baking." She smiled. "You can be my guinea pig!" 

Gordon gave a shy smile in return. 

"How's young Sean doing?" She asked in a friendly way, as she produced a cake and began to cut him a slice. 

"Better than me I fancy." The man replied, seating himself at the kitchen counter, as she indicated he should, salivating with anticipation. "The young are more resilient somehow I suppose. He misses her a lot, of course, but he tries to hide it from me.....so he doesn't upset me. He doesn't think I know." 

"Have you talked to him?" Her hand came to rest on Gordon's sleeve lightly. 

"Oh yes. We talk all the time. I make sure of it. And I make sure he has plenty of cuddles and we spend lots of time together.....especially as he's been off school. We've been go-karting and to the water park, he loves it there." 

"That's good." The elderly lady seemed satisfied. 

"When will he go back? To school I mean?" 

Gordon blinked like a doe caught in the headlights. Unsure. 

"Soon I suppose. We've discussed it, Pauline has talked to him about it too. She thinks he's ready. But he doesn't want to just yet." 

"Because he's afraid?" A plate with the most delicious looking carrot cake was placed in front of him. 

"Because of me more like. He doesn't want to leave me on my own all day......but I'm worried for him......he comes into bed with me most nights. Feeling alone I suppose or having a bad dream. We snuggle up together....I'm not even sure it's appropriate, but I can't send him away. He needs the closeness. The security." 

"Oh hang _'appropriate'!_ " She scoffed. "He's a grieving child. You're a grieving parent. You damn well need each other. _'Appropriate'_ be damned!" 

"I guess." Gordon shrugged, forking in his first mouthful then closing his eyes as he sank into heavenly bliss. 

"Now that...." he murmured, "......is moist......oh my word!"

......

Once the two had gone, Pauline's mother spoke to her daughter. 

"That man is heading for a breakdown." 

"Yes. He's barely keeping it together. Sean is ready for school, missing his friends there. They've been sending him the work to complete at home so he doesn't fall behind, but he needs the companionship and the hurly burly of school life. He needs to be a kid again and not a tiny adult trying to keep his bereaved father afloat." 

"He's such a lovely chap though." The remark was rather pointed, her daughter realised. "So gentle. So affectionate. I like him a lot." 

"Stop it Mum!" Pauline gave her mother a fierce glare. "I know what you're doing. So just bloody cease and desist." 

The parent arched her eyebrows, apparently scandalised. 

" _Who me?_ What have I said?" She retorted with injured innocence. 

"You don't need to say! I know you too well!" An ugly pout sullied her once pleasant face. 

"Pauline....you are my daughter. I love you....but it's been eighteen months. David wouldn't have wanted you to be on your own forever. Gordon's a very handsome man, loving, kind.....a wonderful caring parent.....the two boys get on like a house on fire....." 

Climbing down from the stool, Pauline Campbell held up her hands in mock surrender. 

"He's just lost his wife, Mother! The circumstances were terrible.....for God's sake! He's not going to be touting around for a bloody girlfriend for a while yet!" 

To her surprise, her mother laughed. 

"Ah! So you have thought about him in that way then! I thought as much. Your face lights up when he arrives to collect his son! I might be old but I'm neither blind nor senile." Then, as if a light bulb was suddenly illuminated over her head, she gave a cry of realisation.  
"So _that's_ why you didn't want to council him!" She was triumphant. "You can't have a relationship with a client! It's unethical!" She looked very pleased with herself. 

Her daughter scowled. 

"You know what? Sometimes.... _Mother_ .....you can go off people!" 

A merry trill of laughter was all that answered her. 

oOo

Gordon Fleming did not live. 

He continued. 

Every morning he hauled himself out of bed and forced himself through sheer power of will to face the day ahead.

Going through the motions. 

In truth the day was probably easier than the night. Although both were a struggle. 

At least in the daytime he could keep himself busy. There was always lots to do. 

His waking hours were mapped out ahead of him as much as possible, to avoid the moments of silence and solitude. 

A proper breakfast. The school run. Tidy the house. Pour himself into his latest graphic project. (He was actually creating some of the best work he'd ever done at this moment. Perhaps grief focussed the mind.)  
Who knew?  
Then take himself off to the supermarket or down to the village to shop. Come home. Prepare dinner. Do the school run again. 

Day in day out. 

Weekends were a little more relaxed, routine wise. He'd do his best to get out. Do something, anything, usually with Sean, but not always.  
If Sean went off with friends he was at a loss.  
To avoid the silence he would walk on the beach or drive. Into Ayr or into the city. Visit the Art Gallery for an hour, or the museum. Find a coffee shop which was buzzing with people, before returning home alone again. 

Evenings were usually spent curled up in front of the telly with Sean. 

At his son's request they had started reading The Hobbit. Or rather, Gordon had. Just a half hour each night before bed. 

Then, that was it. 

The end of another day. 

This was Gordon's worst time. 

When the emptiness closed in upon him. 

It was then that the facade which he carefully maintained in the daytime, slipped. 

A haunted, broken man, consumed with grief and his own guilt. Unable to come to terms with it all. 

Sleep was virtually impossible. Sean would hear him moving about downstairs, making tea at 4am or wandering the rooms. 

Only if the boy crawled in next to him would he remain in bed and would sometimes be able to shut his eyes. 

The supreme effort he put into the day exhausted him, but then to find no rest at night served to render him a walking ghost. 

Speaking of ghosts.....

He did not tell either Sean or his counsellor, that he sometimes saw Carol in the house. 

She wasn't really there of course, but he would suddenly smell a waft of her perfume, or feel a draft of air from nowhere, and sense that she was near.  
He was aware of her in all the places they loved too. Especially the beach. 

When his son was at school he often walked there. 

Wind and rain, sleet and hail notwithstanding. Her voice reaching him as if carried on the breeze, raindrops disguising the tears he shed.

Desolate, he would stand, staring out across the Firth. Taking deep breaths. Sucking in air, allowing it to trickle out through his lips. 

"Please Carol....." He would whisper. ".....help me. I have to get through this." 

His new therapist told him it would take time, to cut himself some slack. To stop blaming himself for things that were beyond his control. Giving him useful strategies to help him deal with his thoughts. 

But it was hard. 

His boy had become the model child. Quiet and diligent. Helping around the house, tentatively learning to cook, never giving his father a moments worry.  
But keeping this up was putting Sean under enormous strain too. 

More than any ten year old should be able to endure. 

The short, dark days seemed to be stifling him. Forcing him to stay indoors when he yearned to be out and about. To run. To play football. To be free. 

So far, this December the weather had been foul. Sleet and snow kept them both indoors, and the schools closed on several days. 

Christmas was looming, and Gordon was dreading it. 

"I'm bored! Shall we watch a Christmas film Dad?" 

His father nodded without lifting his weary head. 

"What's on?" He yawned. 

"Don't know, I'll look." 

Taking the remote, the lad flicked through the movie channels rapidly. He lighted on an old favourite. 

_Chitty Chitty Bang Bang._

Being shown now because it was close to the festive holidays. 

It had been made when Gordon was young himself. Now subsequent generations were taking it to their hearts in exactly the same way he once had.

Gordon lifted a lazy arm and Sean settled himself beneath it, head on his Dad's chest, as he snuggled down to watch. 

There was something uplifting and ridiculously hopeful about this particular movie. Endearing and enduring over the years. 

A widower with two youngsters. A funny, eccentric grandpa. Catchy, sing-a-long songs. The brilliant Child Catcher performed by Robert Helpmann, who's career as a ballet dancer was over, but who's characterisation shone so brightly and so frighteningly. The fairy tale Bavarian castle of the Baron. The magical car. It was all so schmaltzy but it was all really rather wonderful. 

In another house, not so very far away, Pauline and Alex were watching the same movie together. 

When Truly Scrumptious broke into the song _'Lovely Lonely Man'_ she found herself close to tears for some inexplicable reason. It moved her deeply. The lyrics seemingly so profound, so poignant.  
Staying with her long after the film credits rolled and she was in the kitchen preparing dinner. 

Her son disappeared upstairs to his bedroom. Silent. She heard his door close. 

A while later he reappeared. Sidling in. Seating himself moodily at the counter.  
He huffed loudly, which was usually the sign that something was troubling him and he needed to talk. Turning, as she asked what was on his mind. 

"You remember the first Christmas after Dad died?" 

"Of course I do. It was the worst Christmas I've ever had!" Her voice carried a hint of melancholy, as she recalled her emptiness. 

"Well, I was thinking...about Sean......it's going to be the worst Christmas for him isn't it?" 

"Well yes. I suppose it is." 

Seeing that her son was brooding over something momentous, she abandoned her cooking and sat down opposite him. 

"Go on....." 

"I mean.....it's like he's lost his mum twice almost, hasn't he? It really sucks." 

"It does. So.....what were you thinking?" 

"Couldn't we ask him and his dad to spend Christmas with us? I keep imagining them in their house together, by themselves on Christmas morning. It might help to cheer them both up a bit mightn't it?" 

Rising, his mother embraced her son warmly. 

"You're a very thoughtful boy, you know that? You like Sean don't you?" 

"I really do! We like all the same stuff.....and he's quiet like me, he likes reading and art and space things, we have a laugh too....and that's good.....it makes us both feel better. So couldn't we? Ask them I mean?" 

"Well, I don't see why not!" 

The hug was returned with interest. 

"You're so great Mum. I love you loads!" 

oOo

No white Christmas! Not this year. 

Just a drizzly, sleety, grey, dull day, freezing cold. 

The door was immediately opened at their knock. Alex having been watching out eagerly for their arrival. 

Immediately Sean was pulled inside by his friend and dragged off upstairs to see his new presents. 

Leaving Gordon standing shy and awkward in the hallway, loaded down with carrier bags. 

Pauline tugged his arm. 

"Come inside for goodness sake and shut the bloody door behind you! There's an Arctic blast coming in!"

He found himself almost propelled along the passageway, divested of his bags and coat, a brief welcoming kiss exchanged on each ice cold cheek.  
Ushered through to the kitchen where Pauline's mother greeted him in the same way and pressed a glass of fizz into his frozen hand. 

"Merry Christmas Gordon." She smiled. 

"And to you too.....Mrs....er......" 

Gordon suddenly realised he didn't actually know her name, he faltered, stammering disconsolately. 

"Jean! Call me Jean, dear." Her face beamed at him, a warm welcome.

"Happy Christmas Jean." 

Hiding his discomfiture he sipped his drink, feeling the bubbles go up his nose. 

"What's all this stuff in these bags?" Pauline asked, prodding them dubiously. "Are you staying for the week?" 

Gordon coloured most prettily, first his neck then his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. 

"They are gifts for you all, and some wine. There's mince pies which I made, also a culinary experiment that Sean attempted too.....I think it's chocolate truffles.....but he wouldn't let me look....or try one....oh and he wanted to bring some of the new things he opened this morning......so he can play them with Alex." 

"Oh Gordon, you didn't have to bring anything. We invited you because we wanted to....not so you would bring presents! It's very sweet of you." 

She touched his arm, prompting a self-conscious shrug, as the man gave an uneasy smile. 

.......

Gradually, as the day progressed, he relaxed. 

Around the table there was much chatter, crackers to be pulled, paper hats balanced precariously, reading out the jokes to each other and groaning at their naffness. Stuffed with so much good food. 

Afterwards they played games. 

The adults having all had a glass or two, the banter between them and the boys became louder and more raucous. 

Jean found herself observing Sean. His eyes were constantly on his father. He watched him carefully as she knew that Alex once used to observe his mother.  
Looking for any sign of trouble, a hint of sadness, so as to step in and head it off at the pass. 

Her gaze switched to Gordon. 

Oh, so like Pauline when grieving over her loved one. 

Just as she did following the loss of her husband, he would laugh, join in with the rest, then, suddenly it would hit him again, and the smile would fade.  
As if being bereaved didn't allow you to have fun. As if it were a betrayal of some kind to the one you'd lost, to dare to be happy. 

She saw him finger a chain around his neck from time to time, which contained a gold wedding band. 

He reminded her of an erstwhile Frodo Baggins. Borne down by the weight of that Ring. 

_'The One Ring to rule them all, and in the darkness bind them.'_

How very apt. 

Jean frowned to herself. 

Some while later she carried some dirty dishes out to the kitchen, and to her surprise found Gordon, his back to her, leaning heavily on the sink. Head down, face twisted in pain.  
For a moment she considered turning away and leaving him to his moment, but then she thought better of it.  
Quietly she stepped up behind him. 

One hand gently placed between his shoulder blades. 

The little jump he gave showed her that he thought himself unobserved. Flustered, he tried to hide his tears, then realised it was pointless. 

"Sorry!" He muttered. Attempting to gather himself. 

"Don't apologise! Can I give you one little piece of advice Gordon dear?" She said softly. 

He nodded dumbly, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. 

"Take it off." 

For a moment he seemed confused, his brow furrowing slightly. 

"The ring." She clarified. "Take it off. Put it away somewhere safe and don't wear it anymore." 

Immediately his hand strayed there, closing his fingers around the precious object.

"It's like a huge millstone around your neck. Weighing you down. Each time you touch it and remember like this it's reinforcing the pain and the guilt and it's destroying you. Slowly. From the inside." 

As she spoke she commenced rubbing across his back, placatory circular movements, designed to soothe.

"You see, I've seen it with my own daughter, and I can sense it with you. And it was just the same with me when I lost my George. But it's wrong to punish yourself like this." 

His hand moved to his own forehead, covering his eyes, as tears leaked silently and rolled down his face. 

"Gordon dear, loss is such a terrible thing. It's so hard to move on. It's a process which can only happen slowly. I know it doesn't feel like it yet, but you will get there. It'll take time. Don't feel guilty when you laugh or smile, don't chastise yourself for having fun again. That's how it should be. Your Carol, from what I've heard, was a lovely lass, who wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your days beating yourself up. Your son is afraid to be himself, do you know that? Just as Alex was with my girl. He wants to laugh and run and shout and be free.....but he can't....because he's so scared that if he runs too far and too fast he'll leave you behind. Alone. That's an awful burden for a youngster to carry." 

As his shoulders began to shake, Jean pulled him around and embraced him. Bringing his head onto her shoulder, her arms tugging him in. 

"Oh my dear boy! Such a deal of sorrow!" She murmured gently. 

"I'm trying so hard." He choked out, into her cardigan. "But I see her everywhere. Just on the edge of sight. She's always looking at me, with sad eyes.......but when I reach for her she gives a little smile, then she's gone." 

"Yes. I know. I know what that's like." 

Gordon raised his head, quelling his sobs. He looked surprised. 

"You do?" He exclaimed, incredulous. 

"Of course I do! I saw my George in every corner, especially at home. Heard his voice, smelled his tobacco. Reflected in shop windows sometimes. Our grief conjures them Gordon. Because we crave them so. So it gives us what it thinks we want. That's all it is. It'll pass eventually." 

"I sometimes smell her perfume. Or hear her singing in the kitchen. I thought I was going bonkers." 

Releasing him from her grasp, Jean pulled back, holding him firmly by both shoulders, looking kindly into his face. 

"On the contrary! You're more sane than you know." She smiled. "Take my advice Gordon dear. Take it off. Put it safe in a box at the back of a drawer.....you don't need to wear it, you carry her with you everywhere you go. Do fun things, be glad. Don't be afraid to smile or laugh, or to let go once in a while.....you're a young man still, half of your days are yet to come. Somewhere, out there, is the rest of your life, and only you can chase it......live it. Merry Christmas dear!" 

Gordon wiped his face again, stepping back, just as Pauline entered to refill their empty glasses. She stopped for a second when she saw them close together, separating guiltily, but then carried on, bustling in, opening the fridge, taking out the bottle. 

"Sean wants to play 'Who Am I'." She said brightly. "You two up for that?" 

Her eyes flicked from one to the other of the pair suspiciously, as Gordon valiantly composed himself. 

"Is that where you have a square of paper stuck to your forehead?" He enquired, straightening his crumpled shirt. 

"The very same!" 

"Then I'm game if you are!" He stated, smiling with a supreme effort before hurrying into the living room. 

Pauline turned on her parent, eyes flashing. 

"What was that I just walked in on?" She demanded. 

"It was on old lady comforting a sad and lonely young man, and offering him a wee piece of advice, dear....." She replied smartly. 

".....a piece of advice I once gave to you!"


	28. The Keeper.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon is lying on the beach thinking about times past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eighteen months have passed since the Christmas of the last chapter.  
> That means Alex and Sean have just finished their final year in Primary School. 
> 
> Another Christmas has been spent with Pauline, and now it's the summer holidays prior to the start of Secondary School. 
> 
> Gordon has come a long way. So much has happened to him. 
> 
> There is a little hopping about in this chapter, which I hope isn't too difficult to follow. It begins in the present with Gordon's backward thoughts as he lays on the sand.  
> Then ends in the present again in the place he's in now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.  
THE KEEPER. 

_"New thoughts and hopes were whirling through my mind, and all the colours of my life were changing."_ David Copperfield. Charles Dickens. 

 

....... _eighteen months later_........

 

It was the height of summer. Long balmy warm days. 

Uncannily hot for Scotland. Days when pale Celtic skin was liberally slathered in Factor Bandage to prevent the 'lobster look'! 

School was done for that final year. 

New horizons beckoned. The prospect of Secondary School looming large. The boys now eleven going on twelve. 

So many changes.  
The summer heat crisped and dried the heather. Slowly turning the oat fields to burnt umber, swaying and rustling in the breeze. 

Sand and sea appeared to be tinted orange. 

Even the sky above his head seemed lemon yellow. 

A haze of tiny fluffs of cloud which scudded overhead. 

Gordon lay back on the rug. 

Staring up at it, watching the nebulous forms as they swirled and changed. 

The warmth of the sun making him drowsy. A heady lazy languid feeling which seemed to seep into his limbs, making it impossible to move. 

To his ears came the squeals and cries of those around him. 

Others, who had come down here to enjoy a day on the beach. 

Their beach. 

Two voices were familiar. Sean and Alex, the pair riding the waves on their boards. Both suited like a pair of grey seals. The one, still small for his age, the other seemingly stretched tall like a piece of elastic. Thin and wiry. Growing seemingly beyond his strength. 

Sleek and shiny, they rushed in and out of the water, calling out. 

Carefree. 

Their young lives held hope for the future. Their optimism undimmed. 

Right now though, all thoughts of anything other than the next breaker were banished. 

Yelling to each other, whooping with unbridled glee as they were swept ashore. 

Gordon heaved a deep sigh. Closing is eyes against the bright glint of the sun as it emerged from behind the puff ball which temporarily covered it. 

Fingers reached out to him from his left side. Searching for, and finding his.  
Curling around and holding on. 

He didn't move. Didn't twitch a muscle. 

Relishing the moment. Allowing himself to become immersed in the sensation of the touch of another's hand. 

Neither spoke. 

There was no need. 

Words were meaningless now. 

There was peace to be found. Solace from the wellspring of darkness. 

Being pulled back from the brink. Saved all over again. 

A lifeline. 

Gradually Gordon dozed. Sinking down into the kind of hazy sleep which flows through the body like fine wine. 

The combined soporific effect of warmth from the sun and heat generated from the joy of skin touching skin. 

Dreaming.........

.......

.......Sean had continued to be counselled by Pauline Campbell for an entire year. 

That first Christmas had marked a subtle change. 

He'd taken Jean's advice. 

Removed his chain, put the ring away. 

With its passing, there seemed to be a shift. 

He did not grieve less, he did not think of Carol any less often, but he stopped dwelling so much on things he could not change. 

Sean noticed it first. Said nothing. 

Ceased coming to his father's room at night. 

As the months passed, his own sleep improved. Gordon was at least staying in his bed for the duration.  
There were fewer nocturnal wanderings, no more napping in the living room chair, no more visits to the kitchen for tea or toast at 3am. 

Instead, his father would have the radio playing softly on the bedside table. It's gentle tones comforting.  
Not music, but a play or a drama. Perhaps a reading or the _'book at bedtime'._  
Just a resonant voice in the background which filled the darkness, lulling him off. 

It was an improvement. 

Both Sean and his fast friend Alex, shone in their final year at school. Working hard. 

Gordon was so proud of his son's achievements. 

When the day came for his last appointment with Pauline he knew it was a momentous wrench for the lad. 

It also meant he would no longer see her when he dropped Sean off and picked him up. 

Somehow the routine had become ingrained, it would be like a black hole now that he no longer had that few minutes to look forward to. 

She said nothing. Gave him no sign. He hardly expected her to. 

Perhaps he'd misread the subtle looks between them. She was such a kind person, and perhaps that was all it was.  
Kindness. 

Sean was subdued in the extreme. 

Mrs Campbell wasn't just his therapist, she was his friend. Knowing more about him than anyone alive, he reasoned. 

_But this would not be the end!_

Because Sean was Sean, and he was forever planning. 

Except that this time he had a willing cohort. In the shape of Alex, who was as committed to this scheme as he was. 

_'Operation Romance.'_

More than anything both boys wanted their respective parents to be happy. It was perfectly obvious they liked each other. They just needed a little help. A push in the right direction! 

_And so it began_....

Sean begged his dad to take him ten pin bowling. 

They went on the Saturday. 

Who should they bump into but Alex and his mum.

'Well, fancy seeing you here!' 

The four of them teamed up of course, had such fun. 

Pizza afterwards, before going their separate ways. 

Phase one complete! 

And that was just the start of it. 

A conspiracy.....

"Dad?" 

"What is it Sean?" 

"Can Alex come for dinner?" 

"Sure." 

"Can his mum come too.....only Alex's nanny Jean is away and she'd be by herself." 

"Don't see why not." 

"Brilliant.....what shall we cook? Let's make something special together!" 

.......

"Mum?" 

"Yes Alex." 

"Can Sean stay over?" 

"Course!" 

"Great. When his dad comes to pick him up we thought maybe we could all go to the cinema? We both wanna see the Thunderbirds movie." 

"Ok. If it's alright with Gordon." 

oOo

 

Gordon smiled to himself in his sleep. Breathing evenly. In a state of the deepest relaxation. 

They thought they were being so clever, those boys. 

Thinking their respective parents were too thick to realise what was going on. 

Unaware that, one school day afternoon, Gordon had called round to Pauline's house, for a 'chat'. 

Opening the door to his unexpected knock. Seeing him standing there awkwardly, sheepish. Hands in his pockets. 

"Sorry to disturb....but can we talk?" 

.......

"I suppose you've realised what the boys are doing? Or trying to do?" 

"You'd have to be in a vegetative state not to!" 

He laughed nervously. Sipping his tea and trying to look at ease. 

"Things in children's minds are always black and white aren't they? They don't think about any complications!" 

Pauline smiled, reaching over and placing her hand on his. 

"Gordon, I'm not sure how you feel about all this. But understand this, it's still quite early days for you. Oh, I know that some people find strength in another right from the start, others feel like taking much longer. There's a whole plethora of 'stuff' there when you lose someone you deeply love. There's grief and coping with the loss, there's potential betrayal of that person if you meet someone else, there's children who have to be considered when embarking on a new relationship.....so many concerns and pitfalls." 

Gordon stared down at their two hands as if neither belonged to him. 

"That's why I came. I wanted to.....well.....I wanted to find out what stage you are at....." 

To his surprise she laughed, a merry tinkling laugh which caught him unawares, but which made his heart thump. 

"You haven't been talking to my bloody mother have you....?" She smiled. 

"Er.....no......" 

"I'm further along than you, I think. I'm at the _'I would like to share my life with someone again'_ stage. Or perhaps the _'I'm ready to love again'_ stage, although I suppose the two are fairly similar. What about you?"

His eyes lifted, focussing on hers. Searching for he wasn't sure what. He gave a disconsolate shrug. Swallowing thickly.

"I'm at the _'I'm just so fucking lonely stage'_." 

Her gaze shifted, tears began to form. 

"I'm at the _'I'm just so fucking lonely'_ stage too." She admitted. 

He seemed to be thinking rapidly, turning things over inside his head. Trying make sense of it all.  
After a few seconds he spoke again.

"I don't know whether I'm ready or not.....or what I'm even ready for. But I know I want _something_. This emptiness is killing me." 

"Likewise." She whispered. 

The frustration seemed to burst from him as if he'd held it down thus far but it had to find a way out. 

"Then what do we do?" He asked, almost in desperation. 

"Well, why don't we do what we've been doing? Go out together, with the boys....or perhaps on our own sometimes? Enjoy ourselves and just see what develops? How does that sound?" 

It was more than he'd hoped for, he had to admit. He knew that by coming here like this he was taking a huge risk. But he also knew that if he did nothing he'd regret it till his dying day. 

A puff of air escaped his lips. 

"I think that sounds eminently sensible....." He replied, blushing.

The smile she gave made his heart leap again. 

"......but what about the boys and their 'let's get them together' thing?" 

A little playful punch to the top of his arm. 

"Oh I think we can have a little fun at their expense don't you?" She chuckled conspiratorially. 

 

oOo

Gordon felt a fly land on his face. Tickling his nose. 

He brushed it away with a limp hand. 

Seconds later it was back. 

Opening his eyes lazily he was amused to find her leaning on one elbow beside him, a long frond of sea grass in her hand.  
Ready to drape it delicately across his cheek again.  
She was smiling down at him, her face seemingly suspended over his. 

"Hello, sleepy head!" She murmured. "You were dreaming." 

Slowly his dream thoughts faded and he returned to the moment. 

"Was I?" 

"You were making little snorts and you were smiling to yourself......care to share?" 

"I was dreaming about you." He responded, a treacly warmth in his voice, a glottal sound as he was lying flat on his back. 

"Nice I hope!" 

"Very nice!" 

Bringing his arms up, he pulled her down towards him, placing a soft kiss on her lips. 

That was one thing she loved about him. Such a gentle person. So affectionate. 

He didn't seek to control, he certainly didn't ask to be controlled. 

He just wanted to be loved. 

And to love in return. 

Just as he always had. 

Droplets of water from above suddenly landed on the pair. Forcing them to separate with cries of indignation. 

Two sopping wet boys stood over them both. Dripping sea water. 

"God! You two......" Sean admonished. "Stop eating each other and feed _us_. We're starving!" 

"Yeah.....come on parentals......the time for snogging is passed.....where's the sandwiches?" 

The youngsters then shared a knowing look between them. 

"Honestly! You'd think they were a couple of teenagers!" They chorused, before bursting into gales of laughter. 

 

oOo

There was no headlong rush. No throwing caution to the wind. 

Not in the speed of development anyway. 

A gradual warming would describe it well. 

Or perhaps more apt, a gentle simmer. 

At first the pair spent a little time together. Almost by way of proper introduction. 

Coffee, or a walk perhaps. 

Nothing too taxing and nothing to force the issue. 

Gordon and Sean were sometimes invited to the Campbell house for Sunday lunch. All four around the table together.  
Friendship and sharing a meal.  
What could be nicer?  
Or occasionally they would all drive out to a pub together to eat there. 

The fellowship of food and drink an ideal starting point. 

It was more than six months before they even held hands, and that wasn't because they didn't want to, it was because they wanted to try being friends on for size first. 

They found they fitted. 

Simple as that. 

Being together was pleasant. Gordon discovered there was something to look forward to again, something that was meaningful for him alone. 

Quiet times for reflection and contemplation. Just talking and sharing a bottle of wine of an evening.  
While the boys were upstairs congratulating themselves on their ingenuity. 

By the time summer came around it was established between them that they were officially seeing each other. 

For the boys it was their final primary year. An important one for them both. Choosing a new school for the following year and all that that entailed was momentous. Sean was scared. The senior school was four times the size of his little local primary, where he felt so safe and knew everyone.  
He seemed so young, looked it too. Didn't seem to have shot up like Alex had. 

The parental relationship was almost put on hold, Gordon wanted to give his son all the attention and support he undoubtedly needed, with end of term assessments to determine ability and aptitude looming large. Being both father and mother to him was tough. Making the transition to the 'big school' was going to be tough too. 

With Pauline there in the background, however, they got through it, and it was then that the two seemed to become closer.  
She'd been there for him, and he for her, each just a text message away. 

Gordon had dark moments during those first months. Many of them. Moments when it all caved in and he felt desolate. Pauline probably had them too, but she'd had longer to learn to cope. To her credit she never pushed him.  
She knew he wasn't ready for anything more complicated than what they'd shared thus far. 

For now, it was enough. 

As time passed however, as he began to trust her more, so Gordon opened up. 

So it was they first held hands. Walking together along the beach. His fingers fumbled for hers and held them firm.  
A little look of surprise was all she gave. 

"This okay?" He asked, tentatively. 

Her reply was a nod, and a warm, melting smile. 

.......

Another step taken. 

Often haunted, almost consumed, somewhat unhealthily, Gordon dwelt far too much on the fact that he'd convinced himself that Helen was his wife. 

It continued to trouble him greatly. The way he'd allowed her to take control of him in a manner he would never have allowed anyone else. Fooled by Helen's deception. Her believability.  
He believed because he so ardently wished it to be true, wishing for things to be right and good between them.  
Not just for himself but for Sean too. Keen to save the marriage and to give his wife what he thought she desired.  
Now, with hindsight, he felt he'd been deluded. Manipulated to the extent that he was desperate to please. Anything which he thought might save the relationship. 

A truck load of guilt came with these ruminations. All of which were confided to Pauline that day as they walked. She listened. It was the best thing she could have done. No judgement. No advice. Just a willing ear. 

The first time she really thought of them as so much more than just friends, or even confidantes.  
That bright blustery day when she comforted him as he wept, held him and told him how dear he was to her. 

........

It was a long time before they progressed to intimacy. 

Neither party knew how to broach that subject with each other or their respective sons. 

A difficult dilemma. 

Gordon was extremely scared of his own feelings sexually. Terrified that what he felt with Helen would resurface and that Pauline would be either disgusted, frightened off or both.  
He was ashamed.  
Still wracked with guilt over certain elements of their sex life and the powerful feelings it had awoken in him.  
Throughout the weeks he'd spent with Helen, he couldn't now be sure if any of it was what he truly wanted, or if he was experiencing these sensations because he thought she was Carol and wanted to do anything he could to please her, thereby saving their partnership.  
Carol herself had never shown any proclivity towards the tease and denial in their early relationship, although she loved to take control occasionally and could certainly be empowered when aroused.  
Somehow they'd always struck a balance between the two, neither party either overtly dominant or submissive. They certainly shared a strongly passionate connection, and Gordon's natural gentleness probably made him the weaker of the two. 

With Helen however, it became more starkly polarised. 

She, he now realised, was _all_ about control. She required, nay demanded, total surrender from him. 

He was sure that this state of affairs would have caused him to eventually rebel, since it wasn't his natural inclination. 

He just wanted to be loved. And to give love. Simple as that. 

So, with Pauline he pushed down his feelings.

But denying his innately affectionate nature began to become more and more difficult. 

All Gordon could do was shy away from that level of closeness. Contenting himself with cuddles and the odd, somewhat repressed kiss. 

It was coming round to Christmas again. A whole year had passed. 

Both were more than ready to take their relationship a step further, but still held back from doing so. 

......

This year Gordon was cooking the Christmas lunch. Something he'd never attempted before. 

When he stopped to think long enough, he realised that his feelings of bereavement were different from last year.  
Mentally he was in a better place. 

The past twelve months were a steep learning curve. 

Now, he was coping. 

He was also painfully aware that to a certain extent, he was keeping Pauline dangling. 

How long would she be content with the way things were? 

Wouldn't she want more? Expect it even? 

As the holiday season approached, he finally spoke up.

"Snow is forecast for Christmas." 

Pauline raised her head from where it lay against his shoulder, as they sat one afternoon having shared lunch. 

"That's pretty random." Her expression was somewhat quizzical. 

"Well, I was thinking aloud." 

"And where is this momentous statement leading your thoughts?" She asked, with a barely disguised hint of mirth. 

"Well.....I was thinking that it might prove difficult for you to drive home.....late on Christmas night, I mean. It occurred to me that Sean would love it if Alex stayed over." 

During years of counselling, Pauline Campbell knew very well all the subtle rules and the ways that people tried to say what they really meant without actually using the words. Sometimes she found it infuriating, but her professional patience was never tested. 

"That's true." She did her best to keep from grinning. "Those two have become more like brothers than brothers." 

This time she wasn't going to help him out. He had to say what he wanted to say and be brave.  
It was important to her that he did. 

If he was ready, then he must tell her so. 

"Paul?" 

"Yes, Gordon?" 

She felt him inhale deeply. Here it came....

"I'd really like it if you could stay over too." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Totally......in fact I was thinking....." 

"Seems like you've been doing a great deal of thinking lately......" 

His eyes found hers, and seemed to almost plead with her to rescue him. But she kept her brows raised, remained resolutely silent, and waited. 

"What I'd really like is for you to be here with me on Christmas morning." 

"I'm not sure I understand. Go on....." her voice carried no hint of urging, but she sensed he was floundering.  
A puff of exasperation came out through his lips and he seized her hand suddenly. 

"Paul, please stay over with me Christmas Eve. Please say you will! I don't know what the fuck will happen....if anything.....but I want us to wake up together on Christmas morning.....it would mean a lot to me......tell me if I'm being completely out of order?" 

Reaching out her other hand, she touched his cheek lightly. Stroking the flushed skin. 

"Darling, all this year we've been quietly learning, moving on, finding out about each other. We've been the best of friends. Never a cross word between us. I think it works well, don't you? We work!" 

"Absolutely!" His tone was now somewhat strangled. 

"Right at the start when you asked me what we should do, I said to you that we should enjoy ourselves and see what develops....do you remember?" 

Leaning his face into her palm, Gordon closed his eyes. 

"Yeah. I remember." 

"Well. Look at us! Here we are, a year down the line. Still here. Still enjoying being together.....aren't we?" 

Opening them again he nodded vigorously. 

"God yeah! You're the most brilliant thing that could ever have happened to me. I've learnt so much from you, about myself, about being a parent, about everything." 

Her smile was warm as she moved forwards to place a gentle kiss on his lips. Gordon sank into it with a grateful sigh. 

"Well then." She pulled back slowly. "Come Christmas Eve, let's carry on. Let's continue to enjoy ourselves and see what develops. Shall we?" 

The relief that seeped from him was palpable. 

Bringing his arms around her, he gathered her into him. The bravado had gone to his head!  
Renewing the connection, the kiss turned tender. Long and deep and probably the most intimate they'd ever shared. 

"Fucking hell, but you're wonderful." He whispered. 

......

On Christmas morning it was quite clear to Alex and to Sean that their work was done. 

_'Operation Romance'_ was a complete success. All down to them. It took time. God! But it took time! But they'd got there in the end.  
Thank Christ for that! 

Emerging from the same bedroom. Both tousled and wearing dressing gowns. The pair with contented, smug looks on their faces. Father Christmas had most definitely come! 

The two boys were nudging each other and giggling.....so excited that they were bundled into coats and boots and told to bugger off out into the snow to let off steam and burn off the excess fizzing energy before they had breakfast and opened presents. 

Watching them from the kitchen window with their arms around each other, Gordon and Pauline laughed as the exuberant youngsters whooped and hollered in the fresh powdery winter wonderland. 

Gordon had discovered that making love to Pauline wasn't like making love to anyone else. Why had he thought it would be?  
She wasn't Carol. She wasn't Helen. She was herself.  
He discovered what she liked, and that he liked it too. Very much indeed. 

Long, slow, tender love. No angst, no pain. Lots of kissing. Lots of touching. Breathy whispers of sweetness.  
Foreplay like this he'd never really experienced in his life.  
Warm, melting snuggling intimacy, which began as a pulse. A quickening of the heart. Building with each caress. Rolling together as one beneath the sheets. Until they spilled over like falling water, cascading down and drenching them both. 

Just..... _different_. 

Plenty of passion, certainly. A sensation of surrender in a wholly new way. 

As for Pauline she discovered something too. Just what this deeply affectionate man was capable of.  
Oh my Lord!  
Such solicitude.  
The first orgasm he gave her felt like she was actually melting.  
She clung to him desperately, her hands tangled in his hair. 

"I love you Gordon." 

"God! Paul....I love you too. So fucking much." 

Their tears mingled. But they were happy tears. Held close as their duel arousal gently faded. 

A brand new beginning. 

oOo

That was now seven months past.....

The afternoon waned. A light breeze picking up, taking the edge off the searing warmth of the sunshine.  
Ahead of them the boys ran. 

Lovers wandering home together. 

Gordon walking with his arm slung lazily around her shoulder. 

"What a beautiful day it's been." He remarked wistfully. 

She reached up for his hand where it draped over, clasping his fingers. 

"Glorious!" She sighed.

How he loved these long Scottish summer days when they could come home like this, from spending the entire day down on the sand, and then sit outside until almost midnight. 

Watching the gloaming. Listening to the whine of dozens of fucking midges! 

All the colours of nature which slowly melted and seeped into each other.  
Reds and oranges. Blues and purples. Stretched out across the Firth purely for their rapture. 

All mingled with the fragrant scent of......citronella and insect repellent! 

She turned herself sideways, tucking into his side as he sipped a glass of wine. 

The silence hung and shimmered between them. 

Words were unnecessary. 

Sure Gordon was still occasionally haunted by the spectre of the nature of his wife's death. Pondering at length what that end might have been.  
Whether she felt pain, or was afraid. Worried that she may have known she was alone. At first it utterly consumed him. 

These things are not easily banished. 

He did not keep these thoughts to himself. Not anymore.  
Now he felt able to share them, to talk them through, helping to heal the wounds. 

It was Carol he most often missed or spoke of. His wife.  
Whom he had never stopped loving. Even though, for a while, she'd stopped loving him. Or had she?  
He was no longer certain. But it was pointless wondering. 

Very seldom were his thoughts troubled by the living ghost of Helen Reid.  
She did not keep him awake at night. 

He barely knew her. She was like a brief affair he had, and put an end to because it made him unhappy. 

Analysing and regret, guilt and remorse. These things had once threatened to destroy him. 

Not anymore. 

The only thing he was, perhaps, guilty of was loving too much. 

He'd allowed himself to believe. To be manipulated. Been weak and easily persuaded. 

He knew now, that Helen seeking out her sister and eventually destroying her was not his fault.  
Agonising endlessly wasn't going to bring his wife back.  
She was gone.  
And the person who ended her life was locked away, and would remain so.  
A minimum of 25 years. No chance of appeal or parole. 

He was satisfied. Justice had been done. 

Now, he was more at peace. 

"Goodness Gordon....you are thinking so loud I can almost hear you!" Her voice rumbled from down on his chest, where her head now rested. 

"Sorry!" He murmured, his eyes scanning the darkening horizon as the stars began to appear. 

"Are you happy?" He asked then, as if his mind had turned a corner, meeting itself coming the other way. 

She raised her head to look at him, her hand placed gently against his shirt. 

"Yes. I am. Very! What about you?" 

A lingering kiss was placed on his lips, her hair falling forwards and tickling his face. 

"I'm so happy I think I shall burst with it." He replied earnestly, his voice suddenly becoming unstable. 

"We are both very lucky people Gordon. Most people never find even one true love. We've managed to find it a second time. My initial reaction? I was just so relieved! I can't tell you...." She snuggled close to him again. " I thought I was dead from the thighs up. I'd never love anyone ever again. Nor could I imagine another person loving me.  
No one in their right mind would take me on I thought! Damaged goods. A bereft widow with a kid! I was scared too, if I'm honest. Scared to fall. In case I fell too far and got hurt." 

A slight sniffling answered her. A little heave in the sternum. 

"Same here. Finding out that Carol was having an affair wounded me. Finding out that I was living with her sister made me sick to my stomach. But you know what? Rewinding time is not possible. But I've been given another chance. The chance to do right this time the things I fucked up last time. I've learned so much. About myself, about love, about my son.....about you. I'm more whole now than I've been for a very long time. And that's down to your love. I don't know when it happened, or how, all I know is it's the best thing that could have happened to me." 

The moon rose large and round. A silver pathway shimmering across the restless waters of the bay. 

"Thank you for loving me Gordon." She whispered. "Thank you for being a father to my son. Thank you for everything." 

He pulled her into him tightly. 

"You've saved my soul Pauline. And now you're its keeper. For always. " 

 

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has read and stuck with the story. I so appreciate your messages and support.  
> They keep me going. 
> 
> Please look out for a new story which I will be beginning to post soon. 
> 
> It's a new Malcolm Tucker story and will be called 'New Rules.'
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it. Xxxx


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